


Mismatched

by RainingInExile



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-03-07 02:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 23,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3158639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainingInExile/pseuds/RainingInExile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames is a famous movie star who has absolutely no sense of fashion. Arthur is a part time librarian trying to pay off student loans who happens to be amazing at picking out clothes. Based on <a href="http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/19632.html?thread=46215088#t46215088">this prompt</a> from kink mime.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Merits of Fantastic Sex

“By the way,” Eames’ latest hookup tells him as the man finishes retying his tie from the night before. “That shirt is the ugliest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”  
  
Eames glances over to the orange and red striped shirt from last night, which is laying precariously over the edge of his recliner, and shrugs. “It’s my color.”  
  
The other man laughs with a strangely charming mix of amusement and derision and Eames has an unusual urge to pull the man back into bed for another go. He probably would if he thought he could manage it after the rather exhausting night they’d had.  
  
“Fine then.” Eames tells him instead, raising a goading eyebrow. “You tell me what to wear today and we’ll see if anyone notices any improvements.”  
  
He gestures imperiously at the walk-in closet on the other end of the room, half-joking.  
  
The other man pauses in putting on his shoes and glances between Eames and the closet with a strange gleam in his eyes that makes Eames want to sit up straighter and lick his lips. Or someone else’s.  
  
“Fine.” The man agrees, leaving his shoes and walking towards the closet. “Go shower, I’ll have something ready for you by the time you’re out.”  
  
\--  
  
The man, and Eames is usually quite good at remembering their names but he’s ninety percent sure this one never gave his, leaves shortly after making sure Eames is wearing everything he’d picked out properly. Eames doesn't think he looks much different from normal.  
  
On the street, he notices more people giving him second glances. For a moment he wonders if they can tell he’s just had an exceptional night of sex by way of some huge hickey he’d failed to notice. Or perhaps a subtle ‘glow’ about him. They say that happens to people, right?  
  
Regardless, Eames brushes it off and arrives in good spirits at the studio of some talk show where he’s intended to give an interview later that evening.  
  
Yusuf, in his usual fit of pre-event hysterics, is on him before he’s even in the door, shoving a cup of tea in his hand and halfway through reminding him what the show is about when he stops abruptly, staring at Eames as though realizing he’s swapped in a particularly similar looking stunt double.  
  
“What? Is there something on my shirt?” Eames asks in mild concern, looking down at the subtle print.  
  
“No, I…” Yusuf trails off. “You look good.”  
  
Eames smirks. “Why Yusuf, have you only just noticed? Are you about to admit your undying love for me? The years you've spent pining in silence-“  
  
Yusuf hits him on the arm- where the bruises won’t show- and snorts, shaking his head. “No, it’s just that you've actually found an outfit that works for you. I think this is the best dressed I've ever seen you, including the outfits from that photo shoot a few months ago. I suppose with you picking things at random from your closet every morning you were bound to eventually stumble into something cohesive.”  
  
Eames frowns. “I’ll have you know I do put _some_ effort into picking out my own clothes.”  
  
Yusuf gives him an uncomfortably pitying glance. “Well, you can’t be good at everything, I suppose.”  
  
“Is this really that much better than what I normally wear?” Eames demands, gesturing to himself.  
  
Yusuf nods solemnly. “I don’t know what you did this morning that resulted in this, but please, please, keep doing it.”  
  
Eames fully intends to respond with a lengthy speech about his scorned sense of fashion, or perhaps the merits of fantastic sex, but is cut off by the arrival of the talk show host of the evening, the ridiculously wealthy Saito.  
  
“Mr. Eames, how good of you to come by for our rehearsal.” The Japanese native greets politely, smiling and offering a hand.  
  
Eames turns to the man, smiling back widely. “Mr. Saito, always a pleasure.”  
  
Saito gives him an appraising glance, and Eames has a funny feeling he knows exactly what the man is about to say before he says it. “Your ensemble today is resplendent, Mr. Eames, you must tell me the name of your assistant. I am always on the lookout for good talent.”  
  
“I’ll let you know when I find out.” Eames says with his best shit-eating grin.  
  
Saito laughs easily and leads them toward the set for the walk-through, explaining the rough schedule as they go. Behind the man's back Yusuf gives him a hard, suspicious look. The kind that promises a lengthy talk later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and critique are always appreciated! I'm hoping to write at least a bit more but I'm not sure how much yet.


	2. Two Tickets to That Thing You Love

The door swings open and Arthur barely even glances up from the book spine he’s carefully reassembling. “If you spill any of that in here I’m going to have you cremated alive.” He informs the intruder neutrally.

Ariadne just takes a particularly loud sip of her coffee in response, walking around to the other side of the brightly lit white table. “Good morning to you too.” She greets with a cheerful dose of sarcasm.

“Good morning." Arthur relents with a sigh. "I meant it though, this thing is important.”

“And by that you mean worth a lot of money.” Ariadne guesses correctly. “What’s so special about it?”

“It’s a book on the proper etiquette of meeting British royalty from before the War of Independence. The fact that this thing was never tossed in a fire is a miracle.” Arthur tells her frankly, applying a thin layer of a poly-vinyl-acetate glue.

“Ah. Fascinating.” She replies disinterestedly around another sip. “So, do anything fun last night?”

Arthur pauses in his work to frown disapprovingly at her, or rather, tries to. His thoughts slip without his consent to the events of the previous evening and the handsome stranger he’d spent the night with. He barely remembers to send her a glare before looking back down at the stupid book he’s been working with all morning.

Ariadne freezes in his peripheral, and he curses under his breath as she gives a loud squeal of excitement. “You did! What did you do? Tell me everything!” Sometimes she seems far too young for her actual age.

Arthur stands up fully and raises a condescending eyebrow, doing his best to channel the ever-disapproving principal of his secondary school. “It was nothing.”

“Then why are you blushing?” Ariadne asks with a smirk, completely unfazed.

He can feel the slight heat of his cheeks despite himself, and sighs again. “Is this really important?”

She raises her own eyebrows as though questioning his intelligence and gives him an expectant look. “Yes.”

Arthur pushes away from the table to collect a few more supplies and not have to look directly at her as he admits quietly. “I met someone.”

“And?” Ariadne demands behind him. He can practically hear the hand on her hip.

“We went back to his place. It was great. I’m probably never going to see him again. Happy?” He snipes quickly, taking longer than he needs to digging out another bottle of glue and a clamp.

“Oh.” Ariadne replies more sedately before adding “You don’t usually do casual.” It’s not quite a question.

“No,” Arthur agrees grimly, thinking back on the very few boyfriends he’s had the last several years. “I really don’t.”

“Do you regret it?” She asks after a minute.

Arthur’s hands still without conscious direction. He carefully thinks about it in the most abstract way possible, ignoring the clenching in his gut that been telling him since a few minutes after meeting the man last night to _hold on_ and not let the man go. Because he always gets more attached then he means to, and it always takes a few days but he gets over it. So he’d ignored his own usual precautions and had a fantastic time.

Ignoring Ariadne’s question, Arthur turns around with a carefully scolding look and practically drawls “Did you have an actual reason for barging into my lab and disturbing my work?”

Ariadne sighs but lets him switch topics graciously, a note of her usual enthusiasm working its way back into her voice. “I was wondering if you had plans tonight actually.”

Arthur returns to applying glue and adjusting the newly repaired book cover. “Only about twelve more restorations.” He replies with an absent wave of his hand toward the stack of broken books over on another counter.

“They can wait.” Ariadne decides flippantly. “A friend of mine got sick so I've got two tickets to a show tonight and I need someone to go with me.”

He ignores her for a moment as he makes another adjustment. “What show?”

“The Saito Show.” Ariadne tells him like he should already have known. “The tickets include a backstage visit in the greenroom and everything! Apparently Madelyn’s cousin works on the show or something.”

Arthur makes a vague noise, making sure to hold the cover perfectly in place he adjusts the clamps that will keep the glue drying right.

“And you’ll never guess who the special guest is!” Ariadne continues on, visually bouncing on her heels with excitement now.

He makes a questioning hum noise as he leans down to do a final inspection.

Ariadne huffs. “Fine. Be like that. But you are coming with me!” She orders.

“Will you leave me to get some actual work done if I say yes?” Arthur asks resignedly, knowing he’ll go regardless. There are a surprising amount of things Arthur would do to make Ariadne happy. And at least the show would probably prove a good distraction from thoughts of last night.

“Yes, fine.” She agrees, already walking toward the door. “I’ll pick you up at 7.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that took a turn for the melancholy...oh well.


	3. Fancy Meeting You Here

Eames is standing just next to the raised set, waiting for his cue, when Yusuf finally catches up with him.

“What on Earth was that about?” Yusuf whispers as he stops beside Eames.

Eames pouts innocently at him. “What was what about?”

“That comment earlier about your _assistant?_ ” Yusuf prompts, crossing his arms and raising an incredulous eyebrow.

“What’s wrong with having an assistant?” Eames asks. Yusuf himself has been trying to get Eames to agree to an assistant on and off for years. Practically since Eames starting landing actual jobs.

Yusuf glares at him. “Why didn't you ask me if you finally wanted one? You didn't sign anything, did you?”

Eames takes a long moment to imagine the idea. The one assistant Yusuf had once gotten him had been a striking young women in an uncomfortable looking pastel dress. She had tried to force him into a suit with coattails on the jacket when he hadn't even had anything planned that day. Needless to say Yusuf had been banned from trying it again, though god knows that man had tried to make him reconsider.

The man from last night would make a great assistant though, Eames is certain. The right balance of carrot and stick. Not to mention people were already glowing with praise for how well he’d played Barbie with Eames that morning.

Yusuf hits his arm again in the same place as he had that morning. “Did you?”

“When have you ever known me to do my own paperwork?” Eames points out.

His manager scowls. “You don’t have to read anything to sign at the bottom and you've been known to do _that_ without consulting me!”

“It was _one_ time, and that movie was the pinnacle of my career! I _needed_ to do that roll.” Eames complains before turning rather abruptly back toward the set. “I think that’s nearly my cue.”

“Eames!” Yusuf complains, but Eames’ name is already being called and he’s stepping out into the bright light of the set with a wide smile and a wave at the excitedly cheering audience.

\--

Saito begins the interview with questions and conversation about Eames’ newest role as a spy in a futuristic action film. They show the teaser trailer and then finally Saito moves on to more interesting questions.

“So Mr. Eames” Saito segues, ignoring Eames’ prior insistence on being just Eames. “Star Weekly has named you the most eligible bachelor in America this year. What was your reaction to the news?”

Eames grins and sits up a little straighter. “Delight. There’s nothing quite like being told you’re the handsomest, wealthiest, most single man this side of the pond.”

Saito chuckles with the audience and Eames takes a sip of his mug of water as he’s asked the next question. “You are single then? I’m sure a large part of our audience would like to know.”

Eames’ smile quirks a bit up on one side. “Yes. I suppose I am.” And for the first time in his life he feels a split-second twinge of something uncomfortable when he admits it.

“Have you thought at all about settling down?” Saito inquires.

“No,” Says Eames immediately, an answer he’s given enough times to be practically instinctual. “No, I’m far too busy for anything serious just now. Hopefully by the time I am ready I’ll still have enough of that good looks and wealth to manage it.”

The audience laughs again and Eames grins back at them, riding the buzzing adrenaline that always comes from a live audience. There’s nothing quite like it.

\--

Ariadne shifts next to Arthur excitedly as the show finally gets underway. Arthur tries in vain not to smile with her, feeling happy by osmosis. Before they know it Saito has done his introduction and is introducing his guest, causing Ariadne to clap loudly and call out her excitement.

Arthur claps along more sedately for a few seconds before the man comes into view and his heart skips a painful beat.

He stares for several minutes as the man walks across to the couches waving at the audience in the suit Arthur picked out for him that morning, only snapping out of his uncomprehending shock when Ariadne’s elbow gently nudges into his side.

“Uh, Earth to Arthur?” She asks quietly, sounding annoyingly concerned.

Arthur carefully blanks his expression, shaking his head. “Sorry, remembered something I forgot at the lab.”

Ariadne frowns for a moment but turns back to the two men talking on stage about some action movie. Arthur tries not to look too closely at the guest, Eames.

He knew the man’s name from the previous night, of course, but it had been so far from the realm of possibility that Arthur apparently hadn't made the connection. Not that Arthur kept up with recent movies or actors that well anyway.

Still, the reality is more unsettling than Arthur would like. Not just running into the man the next day, even though from Arthur’s limited understanding that sort of embarrassing thing is not supposed to happen, but that Eames is, well, _the_ Eames. Famous enough that even Arthur had known basically who he was in an abstract sense, and well out of Arthur’s league. It must have been amusing for the man, playing with him, cajoling him into sleeping with him like he must have dozens before Arthur.

Last night, the man’s persistence had been charming. Had made Arthur wonder just what the man saw in him in the short time they’d been barely talking that he thought worth pursuing. Now Arthur realizes he must have presented a challenge. Someone not instantly willing to sleep with him for his fame.

He feels used in a way that he didn't last night or that morning. The entire event which had seemed so oddly fulfilling now empty. He feels a knot in his stomach like he might be sick.

Ariadne keeps darting furtive glances at him, but doesn't press the issue again. It’s not until the show is over and Ariadne’s pulling him toward the stage door that he remembers about the backstage passes they have and halts suddenly at the end of their row.

“You should go without me.” He offers, trying to sound calm.

“Half the reason I brought you was for backup on this part.” Ariadne complains, “I’m not letting you worm out of it now!”

Arthur considers putting up more of a fight and feels a flash of hot anger at Eames for putting him in this position in the first place.

“Fine, I’ll come.” Arthur agrees, unwilling to let the man he happened to sleep with one time dictate his actions. Famous or not. Besides, there will probably be loads of people backstage. And Eames will probably have to run off to some bar or something so he won’t even really be there. There’s no reason at all Arthur should have to deal with him.

\--

Eames and Saito retreat as the show ends to the green room, where they are given drinks of their choice (tea for both) and left to wait on couches for the audience members with backstage passes. Yusuf and a couple of the show’s crew are coming and going or ambling around the food table off to the side.

It’s not long at all before one of the security guards ushers in a couple of the pass holders, two barely twenty looking women who are smiling like they’re auditioning for a dental commercial, complete with neat white American teeth.

Eames stands to greet them with Saito, amused by their obvious excitement, and offering his hand as Saito welcomes them warmly and thanks them for coming.

“Eames, I love your work so much, I've seen everything you've been in!” The one with loosely curled dark hair gushes, clearly fighting off a blush.

“I feel an urgent need to apologize.” Eames tells her as earnestly as he can manage through the post-show high he’s on.

They both giggle, and Eames is just turning to ask someone to fetch the girls drinks when another group of audience members are ushered in. There are four of them, but Eames’ graze is drawn instantly to a familiar stern expression and he feels himself smiling helplessly, something loosening in his chest.

“Darling!” Eames finds himself calling, ducking passed the two startled looking girls and heading straight for the man from last night. “There you are!”

The man looks caught off guard and reluctant as he meets Eames’ eyes, a look that seems utterly alien on the face that had mocked him all last night, but Eames ignores it completely and wraps a comfortable hand around the man’s narrow waist, drawing him forward. “I was wondering where you’d wandered off to.”

“Mr. Eames-“ the man starts, some of the disdain from early last night slipping into his tone, but Eames doesn't let him continue.

“Saito,” He cuts in, addressing the curious looking host. “I promised to introduce you to the man responsible for dolling me up this morning.”

“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Saito tells the man. “You've got quite an eye if this is any indication Mr…?”

“Arthur.” The man from last night admits, accepting Saito’s hand to shake. Eames beams next to him.

“I’m glad you could make it to our show. Did you enjoy it?” Saito asks, and Arthur seems to realize something, looking back at one of the other audience members.

A girl who is maybe a few years younger than him walks over, smiling sharply and giving Arthur a look. “Arthur, you didn't tell me you already knew everyone.”

There is an edge of steel in the girl’s voice, and Eames gets the feeling that Arthur is going to be in a bit of trouble. He tries to sympathize but finds it difficult to feel anything other than the sudden joy of having Arthur back in his sights. And with a name this time too.

“I’m Eames.” Eames introduces himself needlessly to the girl, holding out a hand while his other is still wrapped firmly around Arthur’s waist.

“Ariadne.” The girl replies, taking his hand and blushing when Eames brings it up to brush his lips across.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Eames says, smiling his most charming smile and trying not to laugh at the scowl darting across Arthur’s features.

He releases her hand, satisfied that she’s been somewhat appeased, and turns toward the other pass holders who have amassed in the meantime. Arthur slips casually away from him, but Eames is careful to keep him in his sights as he and Saito do the rest of the introductions and start signing things and answering more questions.

It’s a good half hour later that things begin to wind down and Eames makes his way toward Arthur and his friend again.

“Darling, I was hoping I could have a word with you a bit more privately. It won’t take long.” Eames says as he gets close enough.

“Actually we were just leaving.” Arthur says, turning as though to do just that. Eames reaches out without thinking about it and grabs the man’s forearm.

Arthur stiffens under his touch, but before he can pull away or reply Ariadne is interjecting. “I don’t mind waiting a few minutes. This sounds important Arthur.”

“It is.” Eames assures, nodding emphatically and suddenly nervous that Arthur will disappear like he had that morning, before Eames realized he didn't want it to happen. “Very important.”

Arthur sighs. “Fine.” And pulls his arm pointedly out of Eames’s grip before gesturing for him to lead the way. There’s probably something wrong with him that Eames finds the impatient scowl on his features terribly attractive.

Without further prompting Eames leads the way to his little dressing room, carefully looking back every few seconds to make sure Arthur is still following him. He closes the door behind them and resists the urge to kiss the other man with herculean effort.

Instead, Eames goes over and sits on the edge of the vanity, giving Arthur an appraising grin.

“What?” Arthur demands after a moment of silence, crossing his arms and looking generally off-put.

“I have a job offer for you.” Eames opens, carefully watching for the other man’s reaction to the idea. Arthur’s lips thin but he doesn't immediately turn him down, so Eames continues. “I seem to be in need of an assistant to pick out clothing for me. You did a fantastic job this morning by all accounts so I would like you to do it.”

Arthur glares at him. “No.” And turns toward the door.

“Wait!” Eames calls out, halfway across the small space before Arthur manages to get a hand on the doorknob. “Why not?”

“I have a job, Mr. Eames.” The man tells him without turning back. “I don’t want anything from you.”

Eames feels a hollow kind of desperation grip him, and lunges forward again. “Take this then!”

Arthur turns back for a moment, and Eames thrusts a business card at him from the small stack Yusuf had left on the vanity. It’s incredibly simplistic, something some design company had put together with only Eames’ name and phone number. Well, Yusuf’s phone number really.

He pulls the card back again before Arthur can take it and the man gives him an exasperated look.

“One second. Do you have a pen?” Eames asks, patting down his pockets and glancing around.

Arthur sighs and pulls one out of his pocket and Eames scrawls his personal cell number on the bottom.

And then Eames is handing over the card and Arthur is taking it like it’s some poisonous snake and walking out the door.

Eames stares at the edge of the door for a long time after the man has left, for reasons he really isn't ready to put a name to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. That just went and doubled my word count. Oops?


	4. A Bit of Bad News

It takes two days after the 'Eames Incident' for Arthur’s life to collapse beneath him.

“I’m very sorry to tell you this Arthur,” The library Administrator is telling him, smiling in a condescendingly sympathetic way that always sets his teeth on edge. Ms. Calkins is a recent hire by the library’s Board of Directors, and Arthur has had thankfully little to do with her until now. “But the library will be closing down it’s lab facilities next week. The space is going to be renovated into a new gallery for some of the more rare works in our archives.”

“What will happen to all the work the lab’s been handling?” Arthur asks, knowing the answer but needing to hear it aloud. His fingers curl in against his palms unconsciously, digging in small semi-circles.

Ms. Calkins gives him what’s probably supposed to be a reassuring look. “We’d like you to finish your current projects before Friday, and any other projects will be outsourced to other labs after that time.”

Arthur stays silent at this pronouncement, his mind racing through all of the immediate ramifications. There aren't any other libraries within the city that are big enough to have their own labs, so he’s going to have to take a lower position somewhere for likely half the pay and hours, or move somewhere new.

“We’ll be giving you three months of severance pay.” The woman continues as though that is any consolation. “And there will be a little going away party on Friday with the rest of the staff at lunch time.”

Arthur feels a burning desire to tell her exactly where she should put her ‘going away’ party, but bites the inside of his cheek to keep from voicing anything. He’ll be damned if he doesn't at least get a good reference out of all the months he’s been slaving away here.

“If that’s all, I have some work to finish up.” He says instead once he’s certain he can control what comes out. He tries for neutral but ends up a bit curt. If Ms. Calkins notices she gives no indication.

“Of course. Thank you for all of your hard work, Arthur. We’re sad to see you go.” She tells him, standing up and coming around her large, glass top desk and holding out a manicured hand. Arthur smiles tightly shakes her hand as briefly as he can without being rude before retreating briskly to the solitude of his lab.

\--

He tries to get actual work done for fifteen stubborn minutes before giving it up as a lost cause when he nearly throws the ancient looking book across the room.

It’s a book about etiquette of all things. Arthur wants to burn it.

The fact is, Arthur really needed this job. He’s still paying off student loans big enough to make him nauseous if he thinks too hard about them, and he’s not living in a shitty one room apartment on the wrong side of town because he likes it.

Maybe if he got a second job while working as a library associate or technician. Neither are jobs he particularly enjoys, but at least he could stay in the city. Even as he thinks about it though he knows it would drive him insane. He did the extra school to be a specialist for a reason.

He grabs his bag and digs around for his cell phone to call Ariadne. Maybe they could meet up for lunch and he could calm down and think this out properly. He pushes a book he’s reading to the other side and notices the little white business card sitting slightly crumpled at the bottom of his bag. It takes him a minute before he realizes it’s the one Eames shoved at him after the show.

Arthur pulls it out slowly, smoothing it out and tracing the cleanly types letters of the man’s name with his eyes.

An idea forms in the back of his mind against his better judgment.

He looks back in his bag again and finally pulls out his phone, opening the dialing menu and considering for a moment before typing in the neatly printed number, ignoring the one Eames had scrawled at the bottom.

“Yusuf.” A definitely not British voice answers on the first ring.

Arthur hesitates, and nearly hangs up, before he finds his nerve. “I heard Eames was looking for an assistant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter but this little bit of plot development needed to get done.
> 
> Also I've done nearly no research into the hierarchy of library staff because it's not very important to the story and I'm lazy.


	5. Good Morning, Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's first day on the job.

Arthur takes a deep breath, standing outside Eames’ apartment for the second time in less than a week. He raises his hand and makes himself knock.

There's sounds of movement inside and Eames’ already familiar voice calling out “I’ll be right there!”, and Arthur wishes he’d grabbed coffee on the way over, if only to distract himself with.

Then the door opens and Eames is suddenly standing there in front of him in loose fitting pajama pants that are riding low on his hips and nothing else, hair mused from sleep, and all Arthur wants to do is kiss the man.

Instead he brushes passed as Eames blinks in apparent surprise, heading for the bedroom and the closet beyond it. The place is pretty much as Arthur remembers it. There’s a small kitchen and living room area in one wide open room and then the bedroom off through a door on the far side. He’s already made it to the closet when Eames moseys up, leaning his hip against the door frame and watching Arthur flipping through his shirts.

“Arthur,” Eames says, slowly enunciating his words and clearly more awake now. “Not that you’re not a delightful surprise, but what are you doing here?”

Arthur pauses for a moment before he forces himself to continue, not really focusing on the shirts so much as having something to do with his hands. “Yusuf didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Eames asks, and it’s enough to answer Arthur’s question. He considers a few subtle ways he might get back at Yusuf later, when it’s less likely to risk his new job. Then a few less subtle ways.

“I changed my mind about your job offer.” Arthur admits, finally daring to look over and watch the man’s reaction. “Yusuf said you've got an interview this morning for a magazine article.”

Eames had already suspected, from the look of it, but that’s hardly surprising given that Arthur’s already in the closet. That doesn't seem to stop the delighted looking smile from curling up Eames’ mouth though, and Arthur has to turn away from it before he does something stupid like smile back.

“You should go shower, they want you there in about an hour.” Arthur says, trying to sound calm.

He doesn't hear a reply right away, and is about to glance over and see if Eames has gone when two warm, bare arms encircle his waist, pulling him back against Eames’ firm chest and whispering into his ear. “You should come with me.”

Arthur very purposefully does not relax into the man’s arms. Instead he elbows the man just firmly enough to be a warning and says. “Get off me.”

Eames lets go like he’s on fire, and looks confused when Arthur turns around to face him. He opens his mouth and Arthur cuts him off before he can say anything.

“Mr. Eames, I’d like us to keep a professional rapport while we’re working together. If you can’t do that then I’m afraid this isn't going to work out.” Arthur gives him as dispassionate a look as he can muster, fighting not to blush and only succeeding on account of the anger simmering below his forced calm. He doesn't appreciate the implications of Eames’ actions. Arthur isn't here to be Eames’ plaything. Even if there's a part of him that wants to be.

Eames raises an eyebrow but holds up his hands in surrender, backing off even further.

“Alright, Mr. Arthur.” He says before turning around and walking off in the direction of the shower. Arthur very carefully does not so much as glance at him as he goes.

When he comes back a few minutes later Arthur has selected a dove grey suit and a light, silver blue, dress shirt.

“No tie?” Eames asks, wearing nothing but a soft looking white towel.

Arthur tries to swallow with a suddenly dry throat and has to clear it in a way he hopes is subtle, desperately looking anywhere but at the man’s body. “It’s a magazine interview, not a pageant.”

“Ah, of course.” Eames says, slipping into the pants. He grabs the shirt next but leaves it hanging open, fingering the little buttons along one side. “I might need help with these.”

Arthur gives him a highly skeptical look.

“No really, these are just so tiny I don’t think I’ll be able to manage it.” He goes on, a slight warmth in his voice that Arthur is certain means he’s trying not to laugh.

“You expect me to believe you own a shirt you can’t do up yourself?” Arthur demands.

“I think this one might have been a gift.” Eames says thoughtfully.

Arthur is positive it was no such thing, but also has no desire to draw this out. Especially when he needs to be at the library in a half hour. He refuses to let his performance standards slip even if these are his last few days there. Resigned, Arthur steps up and grabs the two sides of his shirt, beginning to do up the buttons as quickly as he can.

He’s close enough to see it when Eames’ breath hitches as Arthur’s fingers brush the skin of his chest and Arthur works to keeps his expression neutral, more than happy to see the other man being the one off-kilter.

“There.” He says quietly when he’s done, having left the top two buttons undone and straightened the collar. Then, for good measure, he reaches down and does up the belt Eames had left open, smoothing the end of the leather into place above a slight tent in his pants.

Arthur turns around just in time before a smirk steals over his face, walking back toward the door and calling over his shoulder. “I trust you can put your own shoes on.”


	6. Welcome to the Friendzone

Eames gazes at him with a look of intense longing so visceral that it steals Arthur’s breath away. His voice, when he speaks, is filled with a kind of quiet desperation that wrenches at Arthur's heart. _“Let me show you what it means to truly give yourself to someone else.”_

Arthur swallows as nonchalantly as he can and glances down at the script in his hand, reciting blandly, _“I don’t think I’m capable of that anymore.”_ He squints at the movement direction and scowls, refusing to adhere to the ‘vulnerable crossing of arms beneath bosom’ that is suggested.

_“You are, Countess.”_ Eames implores across the tiny trailer table. _“They have not broken your spirit. I have seen the spark of life in your eyes.”_

_“Then come, ignite my fire with your-_ for fuck’s sake, really?” Arthur demands, partly aghast and entirely disturbed. “Who the hell wrote this shit?”

Eames, who had asked for help running lines which he clearly already knew, grimaces. “Alright, so it’s not Shakespeare, but it’s for a good cause.”

Arthur very deliberately raises an eyebrow. “Really.”

“Actually, yeah.” Eames says sheepishly, “They auctioned off the chance to make a mini-movie out of a one act script. All proceeds go to…I think it was cancer research or something.”

“Oh.” Arthur replies, thrown. He had assumed Eames was toying with him after they got a couple lines in. He had come over to deliver an outfit for a dinner event that had popped up last minute and the actor had bribed him with a plate of sandwiches and some coffee into staying and running lines with him. Arthur didn't actually have anything to get to and it was a little past when he would have normally tried to grab lunch so he’d agreed. It had absolutely nothing to do with the way Eames had come to the trailer door looking ridiculously pleased to see Arthur standing there.

Eames takes a drink from his tea, which apparently he prefers over coffee - the American hot beverage of choice. “So, I heard you like books?” he asks, apropos of nothing.

Arthur, who had packed up his things and left his lab for the last time before it’s demolition the previous afternoon, glares with perhaps an undeserved amount of ire.

“Right, well.” Eames says, shifting around and looking gratifyingly uncomfortable. “Maybe book burning then?”

Arthur blinks, and that’s such an absurd turnaround that he finds himself laughing helplessly. It's not even that funny, but there's been a tightly coiled ball of tension in the pit of his stomach for a while now and suddenly it seems to come loose. He keeps laughing until he’s out of breath and his sides ache. He feels lighter than he has in days.

When it finally tapers off, Arthur looks up at Eames to find him smiling softly at him and he feels suddenly sharply out of breath for an entirely different reason.

“I-ah- yeah I do like books.” Arthur admits. “Not so much the burning bit though.”

Eames keeps smiling, and Arthur thinks it’s unfairly distracting.

“I also occasionally like books.” Eames says, sounding ridiculously solemn about it. “We should be friends.”

Arthur tries to straighten out his expression and give the actor a dry look. Eames just looks sheepish again.

“You said you wanted to have a professional rapport.” He points out. “I think we could maybe be friends while we’re at it.”

Arthur frowns, feeling like he must be missing a punch line somewhere. People like Eames don’t make friends with people like Arthur. It’s just not the way things work. At the same time, he doesn’t want to turn the man down when he’s clearly been making an effort to be civil.

“Maybe.” Arthur concedes, certain the matter will be forgotten in a few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone who's sent kudos and comments my way, it really makes my day to get them :)


	7. Falling Into Step

They meet with Yusuf on a Monday morning two weeks after Arthur has started his new job. Ostensibly, the meeting is to determine if things are going as smoothly as they should be and to address any problems that have come up. As far as Arthur is concerned things are going surprisingly smoothly; Yusuf tells him where Eames is going and Arthur makes sure he’s dressed appropriately for whatever the occasion.

“So it’s been a couple of weeks now,” Yusuf begins once they've all gotten their coffees and settled in an out of the way booth. The restaurant Yusuf chose is small and hard to find, and it has the added bonus of being almost empty this time of late morning, so no one’s recognized Eames and asked for an autograph yet. “Have either of you had any problems with the way things are going?”

“I think Arthur should have more responsibilities.” Eames immediately and cheerfully chimes in. Arthur scowls at him across the table, unable to help it. Of course the man would continue making Arthur’s life more difficult. It seems to be an ingrained instinct. Sometimes Arthur wonders how his directors cope.

Yusuf meanwhile doesn't bat an eye at Eames’ suggestion, nodding along thoughtfully. “What did you have in mind?”

“I think he should be in charge of my schedule too. It makes sense if he’s getting me ready for things all the time anyways, and he’s horribly punctual.” Eames laments melodramatically, entirely ignoring Arthur’s growing annoyance. He refuses to admit that the man might have a point beyond bothering him.

Yusuf turns to Arthur and opens his mouth only for Eames to cut him off.

“He should also accompany me to things. Make sure they’re treating me well and I stay hydrated and all that.” Eames takes a serious looking swallow of his tea.

Arthur gives him a stern look. “You want me to babysit you?”

“Only around other people, darling.” Eames assures earnestly.

“It’s Arthur.” Arthur insists.

“That’s actually not a bad idea.” Yusuf adds agreeably, apparently ignoring Arthur’s incredulity.

“All of my ideas are good ideas.” Eames asserts, puffing up his chest. They both turn to look at him and Eames sighs, waving a hand at them. “Fine, fine. Most of my ideas.”

Yusuf rolls his eyes and turns back to Arthur. “I would be willing to make your position into full time for days when Eames has commitments.” He doesn't say that that is most days, a fact of which all of them are more than aware. “I think Eames is right that things would be improved by having someone there to manage him more closely than I can afford to. There are a lot of day to day things to take care of and my plate is overflowing as is.”

Arthur turns the idea over his in his head, thinking about the last few boring, bad TV filled days he’s had. Picking things out for Eames doesn't take that long, and though he’s getting well paid for his time it’s not enough to get comfortable without a second job or more hours.

“I would want time and a half for evening events.” Arthur negotiates, watching a beatific smile spread across Eames’ face and relief fill Yusuf’s.

“Done.”

\--

After that things get really busy, and Arthur barely has a free moment to sleep let alone process the monumental one-eighty his life has taken. This is the last sort of work that he expected to be doing when he got his degree, and he’s beginning to wonder if all the placemat jokes he’s heard had actual merit for all the good the piece of paper is doing him.

Despite the change though, Arthur can admit to himself that he doesn't mind the work, even if he would never admit it aloud. Especially not where Eames might hear him.

The man is…something else. Arthur had barely scratched the surface in their first series of encounters, even counting the night they met. Eames is vibrant in a way that Arthur has never encountered outside of the movies before. He always seems to have a smile, despite exhausting himself going from one thing to another, and for all that he is easily bored and distracted, Eames is dedicated to his work in a way that makes Arthur nearly jealous of the attention. He will pour over scripts for hours, sketching out gestures and posture and tone as he strides through his apartment wearing different characters like different suits, rigorously testing the fit.

The first time it happens Arthur is in the kitchen making breakfast because Eames has forgotten again – unsurprisingly – and he’s not sure Eames realizes he’s there until he asks what Arthur thought of one of the little shooing gestures he was trying out. 

Then it becomes a regular thing, even when Eames isn't practicing for a particular part. He makes Arthur stay late or calls him to come over early and tries things out for all sorts of personas and emotions and seems to genuinely care what Arthur thinks. Arthur doesn't know what to make of it, but he likes to criticize the man and watch him take the comments and transform them into a better performance.

Before Arthur really knows what’s happened he’s over practically every day, even when neither of them are working, watching movies over pizza and picking apart the acting and plot or laughing with Eames about the latest article about him. Arthur takes to bringing a book with him, reading while Eames memorizes lines or watches horrible sitcoms, and if Arthur occasionally ends up watching too, it’s nothing Eames needs to know about.


	8. Apologies

Arthur stands for a long time outside the little café where Ariadne works. He’s been a pretty horrible friend for the past couple of weeks, ignoring her and replying in only short, vague texts when she tries to contact him. He knows he’s being a coward, but every time he’s tried to tell her what’s going on Arthur freezes up, some unnamed emotion running like ice through his veins.

It's like if Ariadne knows about it then it's real.

Grimly he grits his teeth and pushes open the door, making himself walk over to the counter. It’s not busy yet this early in the morning, and she spots him the moment he steps inside, eyes narrowing at him as she crosses her arms.

“Oh, hello _Arthur_.” Ariadne greets with all the faux-cheerfulness of a teenage girl scorned. Arthur does his best to look contrite and opens his mouth to give her a proper apology and an explanation.

She cuts him off before he gets the chance to start, bitingly sarcastic. “You know, I heard the funniest thing the other day.”

Arthur represses his wince as she continues.

“See I've got this friend.” Ariadne begins, “And she’s got a _best friend_ who she hangs out with all the time. They tell each other everything.”

He tenses but doesn't interrupt, sensing that would be worse.

“Only now, her friend has stopped taking her calls, and he barely texts, and she had to find out from some other friend of theirs that he’s been hanging around movie sets visiting with the incredibly hot and famous Eames and not saying a word to his best friend who so happens to be a fan and more importantly _his best friend!_ ”

“I’m sorry.” Arthur tells her, hoping she’ll give him the benefit of the doubt even if he probably doesn't deserve it right now. “Please, let me try to explain.”

She gives him a long, narrow-eyed look but eventually nods, leading them to a small booth off to the side from which she can keep an eye on the counter. Once there she leans back and glares at him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Okay. Now talk.”

“They fired me from the museum.” He leads with, because that really is where this whole thing started. Ariadne shows a twinge of sympathy and he rushes on, explaining the rest in broad strokes and feeling guilty all over again as he leaves out the times he’s gone to Eames' for unrelated things or had time when he could have come see her.

By the end Ariadne doesn't look like she knows what to do with the information, expression flickering like an old film.

“So you’re working for Eames now?” She asks, clearly still processing.

Arthur nods. “Technically Yusuf, but Eames pays Yusuf so yeah, pretty much.”

“How’s that going then?" Ariadne demands, leaning forward with her elbows on the table, "Is he as nice as he always seems in interviews?”

“Great, actually.” Arthur admits. “And yeah, he’s actually nice most of the time.”

“Like…in bed?” Ariadne asks innocently, turning her head casually away in her fake disinterest while her eyes stay fixed on Arthur.

“ _Ari!_ ” Arthur hisses, feeling himself flush helplessly and scowling at her. Trying his best not to think about it.

“That bad huh?” She asks, looking and sounding more normal. Arthur hopes this means that she’ll forgive him and tries to ignore the edge of vindictive glee in her expression. It’s not her fault he’s put himself in this position and if teasing him about it means they can still be friends, well, it’s probably good for him anyways.

They talk for a little while more after that, but then the customers start streaming in and Arthur has to get to Eames’ soon anyways.

\--

_Eames goes to him the minute Arthur is through the door, pushing him up against the nearest wall and following the motion with his body, pressing up against the other man._

_Arthur frowns at him distractedly and opens his sweet, wet mouth and Eames licks his ways in, unable to help himself as he groans and presses into the contact._

_Hands grasp at his shoulders as Arthur gasps against his lips, panting when break for air. Eames nudges his foot and slides his thigh between Arthur’s legs and presses himself close, feeling the pressure against his leg to match where he’s pressing into Arthur’s hip._

_“Eames…” Arthur manages to get out between the slick friction of their lips._

_Eames shoves up against him again, pushing Arthur a little ways up the wall and breaking the kiss around the other man’s gasp._

_Arthur’s hands tighten on his shoulders, pulling Eames in closer as he relaxes into it and moans as they slide against each other. Eames sucks kisses into the column of his neck as his hands trail up and down Arthur’s sides, shoving up his shirt to get at the bare skin beneath._

_He moves a hand to Arthur’s hair and uses it to tug him back down to meet his lips –_

Eames wakes in a startled daze to the familiar sound of Arthur letting himself into the flat and a hard on tugging insistently at his attention.

Briefly Eames debates just laying back, shoving his boxers down and letting Arthur find him paying the problem patient and generous attention. Better yet, he could invite Arthur to help with said problem. There was however the issue of their _rapport_ to consider, and as much as Eames had enjoyed their one night together, there is something to be said for the constant, reliable role Arthur has assumed since then. He finds himself strangely reluctant to keep pushing the borders.

Instead of either action, Eames forces himself to get up and duck quietly into the bathroom, making sure to close the door loudly enough that Arthur will know where he is. Showering is hardly going to raise any flags, even if he takes a little longer than usual.


	9. Dinner for Two

Eames grins around the lip of his glass, perfectly sated and content for what feels like the first time in years.

“We should do this more often.” He tells his companion impulsively after putting his glass back down.

Mal just laughs at him, “You must be careful Eames, my new husband will start getting ideas.”

Eames smirks. “Let him.” And takes another drink. “I’d have swept you off your feet years ago if I wasn't incredibly gay.”

She laughs again, swatting him on the arm. Her cheeks have acquired a slight red tint sometime during her last glass of wine that Eames finds endlessly delightful on her usually immaculate face. If he were any good at art he would paint her a thousand times. He would sculpt her beauty into marble and stone so that hundreds of years from now, long after both their gorgeous bodies had succumb to time, humanity would still have a shadow of her to adore.

Mal snorts elegantly. “You would make a dreadful sculptor. Painter _perhaps_.”

Eames frowns, glancing at his nearly empty glass contemplatively. “I don’t think I entirely meant to say that out loud.”

“I wasn't aware you were capable of that sort of control.” She teases, bringing her half full wine glass to her red lips.

“Capable yes,” Eames clarifies. “I find myself not typically inclined, though.”

They lapse into the comfortably shared silence of the spectacularly drunk, Eames grinning madly every few minutes while Mal smiles beatifically back. The waiter refills Eames’ glass.

“Mal, I met someone I think you’d like.” Eames tells her eventually, inspired by a sudden image in his head of sitting on a park bench between Mal and Arthur, both glaring at him whilst secretly trying not to smile.

“Oh?” Mal takes the bait benevolently, raising a single perfect eyebrow.

Eames pauses, the words sticking in his throat at the way her expression suddenly reminds him of Arthur. “You wouldn't happen to have a long lost brother you've been hiding from me, would you?”

“I will admit to nothing.” She says playfully, but then tilts her head. “Is something the matter?”

Eames smiles again, but it feels stiff and he knows she’ll notice. “I-“ he starts to explain, only to be cut off by a melodic chiming from Mal’s purse on the side of the table.

“That will be Dom.” She says, smiling softly as she fishes out her phone. Eames leans back in his chair and lets her voice wash over him, ignoring the conversation in favor of the warm, affectionate, lovesick tone she always gets talking to her husband.

Dom Cobb is still a fairly new acquaintance of Eames’, despite having known Mal for years. He knows the bare details of their whirlwind European romance, and a little bit of Cobb’s drool worthy professional reputation as a director and producer, but his doubts about their quick marriage had been put to rest by the expression dancing around Mal’s lips now, and he can never help watching it, mesmerized by the depth of _joy_ beyond the momentary in it. Like happy or sad Mal will always be moored in her feelings for him.

He’s always envied her falling in love, but the ache in his chest, the constricting pressure around his heart, feels more raw this night than usual.

Mal hangs up and the look lingers, a quiet happiness in her eyes making them light up even more. “We should go soon.” She decides for them, “But first, my husband is putting something together; it’s going to be huge.”

Eames raises an eyebrow, silently asking her to get to the point.

“There could be a part in it for you.” Mal tells him. 

“Cobb only works in Europe though.” Eames points out.

“Yes,” Mal nods agreeably. “But you’re not going to want to miss this.”

“Are you trying to entice me away across the ocean?” Eames asks, an old argument of theirs.

“Always.” Mal admits freely.

\--

They walk together out toward the curb, where there are cabs waiting for them. Eames has an arm around Mal’s waist and they are giggling over a joke he’s already forgotten.

“Wait!” Mal tells him, pulling him to a stop beside her just out of the doorway and in the cool night air. “You were going to tell me about someone?”

“Next time.” Eames promises, pulling her back toward the nearest cab. He opens the door for her and tucks a lock of her soft dark hair behind her ear, knowing he’s wearing a dopey looking smile for her. “God, I missed you Mal.”

Mal’s mouth stretches in a lazy, pleased smile as she kisses him goodbye and climbs into the car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I've been sitting on this particular conversation since about chapter 4 or so.


	10. A Lot of Difference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _I didn't want to kiss you goodbye - that was the trouble - I wanted to kiss you good night - and there's a lot of difference._  
>  \- Ernest Hemingway

“You've got an interview with Emma Clark for Vanity Fair on Wednesday, but no, nothing tomorrow.” Arthur confirms for Eames as they make their way back after another long day.

“So I have tomorrow off then,” Eames pronounces gleefully, and Arthur bites back the smile that wants to curl his lips at the actor’s obvious excitement. As much as Eames loves to keep busy, he seems to have a personal grudge against scheduling, which he insists is unnatural.

“Yes, you have tomorrow off.” Arthur repeats with an indulgent nod, pausing as they reach the doors to Eames’ building. Eames loves walking as much as possible, and the evening had been a nice mix of late evening sun and a gentle breeze. Arthur had never felt relaxed enough to walk much before, always busy running around, but since working with Eames he's ended up doing a lot more walking, and he reluctantly agrees that it’s nice to take his time.

Eames turns to him as he falls behind, and visibly takes a second to realize that Arthur’s leaving for the night. “Arthur, come up for a minute.” He says instead of goodbye. Not that Eames is terribly fond of saying goodbye anyways. Arthur has watched him dance around the phrase like he’s competing for a title.

Arthur glances at his watch, but he knows even before he looks that it’s still pretty early, and if Eames doesn't have anything scheduled tomorrow it’s not like he’s got an early morning either. He shrugs and follows Eames up, wondering if Eames wants to show him a new version of Peter Browning, the ambitious legal counsel to a powerful CEO and godfather of the man’s only son. It’s been getting better, but they’d both agreed there was still something slightly off about his performance.

Eames darts off toward the bedroom the moment they get inside, with barely a muttered “I’ll be right back.”

Arthur wanders over to the couch and sinks into it. He’s had a love/hate relationship with Eames’ couch since his first time on it, which Eames finds utterly hilarious despite Arthur’s threats of bodily harm. There’s just no way to sit comfortably while keeping any semblance or posture or composure. You’re either perched uncomfortably on the very edge or practically swimming in the cushions. It’s the most comfortable piece of furniture he’s ever encountered, but it’s at the cost of any sort of dignity.

If he were ever alone with it, he doesn't think he would mind.

Eames wanders out surprisingly soon, carrying a thick parcel wrapped in heavy brown paper. He’s grinning incessantly and sits down sideways beside Arthur to face him as he thrusts the thing into Arthur’s hands. “I got you something.”

It’s a book. That much is immediately obvious to Arthur’s well trained hands. He raises an eyebrow at Eames. “What’s this for?”

“Open it.” Eames just instructs, gesturing with all the patience of a child on Christmas morning.

Arthur feels an immediate reluctance. He’s never been particularly comfortable with gifts, even on occasions like Christmas or birthdays where such things are the socially-acceptable norm. He doesn't mind getting things for other people, even though he knows it's hypocritical, but he always feels like he owes people when they get him things. Or like they expect him to owe them.

It’s taken Ariadne years to get Arthur used to exchanging presents with her.

His fingers trail along the edge of the paper where it’s taped down, and the sporadic application of the tape (along with the folding job) make Arthur think Eames wrapped this himself. He feels a dread settle in his stomach, and hopes vehemently that this is some stupid prank – a book of practical jokes or _How To Be An Effective PA: An Illustrated Guide_.

“Eames, really, what’s this about?” Arthur tries to imbue his voice with a tone of command, giving him a frank look to show he’s not playing around.

Eames sighs like Arthur’s being difficult but relents calmly, “I saw something I thought you might like, so I bought it for you.”

“I don’t need anything from you.” Arthur tells him immediately, already painfully aware of everything he currently owes the rich actor.

“That’s not the point, darling.” Eames huffs, like Arthur’s the one being unreasonable. “I _wanted_ to.”

Except that’s exactly the point. Eames _wants_ Arthur to dress him. Eames _wants_ him to run his schedule. Eames _wants_ to invite him over every once in a while to hang out. That minute any of that changes, and Arthur knows it inevitably will, Eames will _want_ something else from _someone_ else and Arthur will be left trying to salvage his life from poverty and a lack of social life. A lack of Eames.

The thought it abruptly stifling, and Arthur turns to ripping the paper off the book just for something else to focus on.

He knows from the feel of the jacket that the book is old even before he can see it, the binding getting loose and the cover slipping. When he flips it over his breath sticks uncomfortably in his throat, making him feel short of breath. “This is a Hemingway.”

“First Edition Hemingway.” Eames corrects with a smirk. “I found it online in an auction.”

Arthur shoves the book at Eames like it’s corrosive. “I can’t take this.”

Eames frowns at him, trying to hand it back. “What do you mean you can’t take it? It’s a gift. I’m _giving_ it to you.”

“Eames, that’s a First Edition _To Have and Not Have_. It’s got to be worth thousands!” Arthur stands up, taking a step back. He feels panic bubbling in his stomach and worries for a moment he might throw up.

“So?” Eames demands, standing as well and still holding the book out. “It’s not like I have a pressing need for it.”

“Neither do I!”

“Well tough!” Eames shouts, finally losing his temper and shoving the book into Arthur’s arms. The only reason it works is that as much as Arthur doesn't want the thing he can’t stand to see a book this valuable dropped. “I don’t know what your problem is but I've given it to you so it’s yours now. If you don’t want it you can sell it yourself!”

“I don’t want your _charity!_ ” Arthur spits back.

“Then donate it to a bloody library!” Eames yells, throwing his hands up.

“Fine, I will!” Arthur storms back to the door, yanking it open and slamming it on his way out.

His blood still feels like it’s boiling in his veins when Arthur’s feet hit the pavement, so he turns toward his apartment instead of hailing a cab or taking the subway. By the time he finally reaches his building he feels exhausted, and most of the anger has dissolved like steam, leaving nothing behind but an empty ache.

He puts the book under a stack of others on his shelf, spine facing the back so he won’t even have to see the title, and does his best not to think about it.

With the anger faded and no one around, it’s difficult, and his mind keeps playing the fight over in his head like a track stuck on repeat. He wonders for a moment if he’ll still have a job on Wednesday, but he’s fairly confident he won’t be fired over this as long as they can forget the incident on both ends.

The thing that bothers him most, Arthur realizes as he lays in bed a few hours later, trying badly to get to sleep, is what Eames is hoping to accomplish. On the night they met Eames tried to buy Arthur a bottle of the most expensive wine in the place. Arthur had laughed it off at the time and thought he was joking, but it’s not the first time he’s thought back and wondered what Eames had thought of him then. How much of a challenge he really was for the famous actor. If the whole set up of hiring him isn't just another set of obstacles being overcome and what the goal might be this time.

He wonders vaguely how much more it will hurt when he finds out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooh, I've reached the chapter 10 mark! Thanks so much to everyone who's been reviewing and reading along, you've been awesome!


	11. Not Just a River in Egypt

Arthur spends Tuesday cleaning his apartment and doing his best not to think about Eames. Ultimately it’s an exercise in futility, but his apartment looks ridiculously tidy and there isn't an inch of dust on everything anymore so he decides to count it as a win out of self-pity. He thinks it might be the last win he gets for a while.

He sleeps poorly, and by Wednesday morning Arthur has decided he probably doesn't have a job anymore, but that if Eames is going to fire him he should have the guts to do it in person, so he goes to Eames’ like normal.

At the door he pauses, experiencing an odd bought of déjà vu as he considers his next move.

Typically he lets himself in, but he doesn't want to intrude if Eames doesn't want him there. On the other hand, he hasn't heard anything from the man since the previous day, so it’s not like he could be blamed.

He gets his key into the lock before he chickens out, putting it back in his pocket and knocking. He almost leaves before the door opens and a strangely awake looking Eames answers it. They both pause awkwardly in the doorway for a long moment. Arthur wonders if he’s supposed to say something, and is on the cusp of offering again to give the book back when Eames takes a steps out of the way and Arthur moves past him instead.

He picks out an outfit to silence and Eames padding around on his bare feet in the kitchen, presumably grabbing breakfast. When he comes out from the bedroom Arthur nearly walks straight into him, both taking a hasty step back, and Arthur sighs. “This is ridiculous.”

Eames huffs. “It’s not exactly my fault you have to glare all your gift horses in the mouth!”

“You’re right.” Arthur says, barely managing to push back the tidal wave of irritation building behind his eyes. This really isn't Eames’ fault. Probably. “I’m sorry I overreacted. Please don’t get me anything in the future.”

He expects Eames to grin, or laugh. He expects the actor will makes jokes about Arthur being wrong for a few days at least and lord it over him whenever he wants something, even though Arthur is technically being paid to do whatever Eames tells him anyways. He decided early on that ‘everything’ had a lot of notable exceptions and now he usually just ignores what Eames tells him he wants in favor of making sure he has whatever he _actually_ needs.

Instead, Eames frowns a little and tilts his head like Arthur is a puzzle he’s looking at from a new angle.

“Apology accepted.”

They move around each other, and Arthur tries to tell himself that the strange off feeling will go away now that they've sorted out the book thing. He tells himself the silence always sounded like this between them, and that they’re probably both just tired. Eames doesn't banter with him as he finishes getting ready. He doesn't remark of Arthur’s sartorial choices. When they reach the pavement Eames decides suddenly that they should take a cab, and talks animatedly to the driver the whole ride.

Arthur tells himself it’ll get better through the day as they fall back into their routine.

It doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments are always much appreciated and bring a really stupidly big smile to my face. I should probably be embarrassed in public about it but I can't say that I mind. :P


	12. Bouncy Brown Curls

Fans approaching Eames on the streets is not a new occurrence by any means. At least once a week or so he’ll be asked to sign something or take a picture, and it’s honestly something he enjoys. Sure, there are the rare incidents with overzealous admirers or the even rarer hater, but all in all Eames is pleased and flattered by the attention, and loves being able to put a smile on someone’s face so easily in these little interactions.

Eames and Arthur have stopped at a cafe on their way to work, their second day back after the whole book fiasco, and Arthur is at the counter making sure they've got the order right and handling things as he does so well when a small hand quite suddenly grabs onto Eames’.

Attached to the little hand is a little girl, with bouncy brown curls and an excited smile. She tugs his hand lightly, and Eames can feel himself smiling back at the sight of her.

“Mr. Eames?” She asks, voice light and fast in a way that reminds him inexplicably of a hummingbird. Eames crouches down to put himself at her eye level.

“Hello there.” He greets. “You seem to have me at a disadvantage.” She squints at him a little, frowning, and Eames continues, “You know my name but I don’t know yours.”

“I’m Samantha and I’m four and a half years old!” She tells him frankly, “You were in my television this morning!”

“Yes, I was.” Eames agrees, nodding. “Are you here on your own?”

Samantha shakes her head matter-of-factly, and as if on cue a lovely young woman with very similar curls bursts in, looking panicked.

“Oh thank god.” She breaths, immediately focusing on the little girl. “Sam you can’t just run off like that! You scared me.”

Samantha looks bashful, and replies, “But Mr. Eames was here!”

The woman seems to notice him for the first time, and Eames smiles charmingly. “Hello.”

“I’m so sorry!” She immediately blurts, looking embarrassed. “I hope she didn't bother you.”

“Not at all,” Eames assures, noticing Arthur walking back over from the counter with their drinks. “I’d like to ask Samantha a few more questions actually if you've got a minute.”

The woman smiles tentatively and nods. Eames turns back to Samantha.

“You said you saw me on TV?” She nods. “Did you like the show?”

Out of the corner of his eye Eames notices the woman move a little away as he listens to the little girl’s excited review of the children’s special he’d been part of a few weeks back, but he’s too busy reveling in the little girl’s praise (and reprimand for sneaking an extra cookie during the episode) to pay much attention.

“Mommy liked it too,” Samantha tells him gravely, “But her favorite character was Lucy. She says we don’t need any men to help us live our lives either.”

Eames blinks at the strange addendum, but Samantha goes on before he has to come up with a reply.

“Mommy says men are nice but unnestismary.” She takes a little bit longer sounding out the last word, and looks unsatisfied with her own result.

“Unnecessary?” Eames offers.

Samantha nods.

“Your mother is very wise then.” Eames agrees wholeheartedly, hiding any compassion for what must be a challenging situation for the young mother. He thinks she’s clearly done a great job at keeping her daughter happy and open minded about the male gender, and Eames is grateful whatever happened between her and Samantha’s father doesn't seem to be negatively affecting them anymore.

“Is that your friend?” She asks, pointing behind him. Eames glances over his shoulder with a reply on his tongue and freezes at the sight of a brightly smiling Arthur talking with Samantha’s mother, both maintaining eye contact and looking very cheerful. He’s acutely aware all of a sudden that it’s been _days_ since Eames saw Arthur smile properly.

“Mr. Eames?” Samantha calls when he stares a minute too long. He turns back and when he smiles again it feels like it belongs to one of his characters.

“Yes, that is my friend.” He says lightly, determined not to over think it.

“Does he like curls?” She asks. “Mommy says she needs a guy who likes curls, since she’s stuck with them.”

Eames forces himself to keep smiling as he shrugs. “I don’t know.”

Samantha looks embarrassed for some reason at that, holding a hand in front of her mouth. She leans closer and whispers like it’s the sort of thing one ought to be ashamed of, “Are you not very good friends?”

It occurs to Eames quite suddenly that that may very well be the case. If they do actually qualify as friends at all.

Arthur could be bi for all Eames knows. He hasn't seen him with anyone since their…evening, but he also isn't always with Arthur, even for all the time they do spend together. Arthur might be going out every weekend and hooking up with some new random stranger for all he knows. Even more often if he wanted.

A part of him doesn't think Arthur would do that, not only because Eames doesn't think he’s the sort to want that much random stranger sex, but also because he definitely is the sort of person who takes his work very seriously, and is up before even Eames is most days. There’s only so many late nights that can be responsibly fit into a busy work schedule.

He could ask Ariadne, he thinks, before completely discarding the notion. She would want to know why he wants to know – or worse, would guess it – and Eames doesn't actually care if Arthur’s seeing other people.

He just doesn't think this particular single mother is someone who’d be good for him.

“Arthur?” He calls over. “You should come say hello to Samantha before we get going.”

They both look over, and the woman blushes again quite prettily. “I didn't realize – I shouldn't have taken up so much of your time.”

She’s looking here between the both of them, and Arthur manages to interject a calm, “Don’t worry about it.” Before Eames can. He nods his agreement when she glances his way though.

Then Arthur gives her another soft smile and walks over, hand leaving her elbow where Eames hadn't noticed it resting before. Like Eames he crouches down to Samantha’s height. “Hello Samantha. I’m Arthur.” He holds out a hand.

Samantha takes it with a smile. “Hello Arthur. It’s nice to meet you.” She glances at her mother who gives her a thumbs up and beams.

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Arthur replies, and then stands up. Eames follows suit and waves Samantha toward her mother.

Samantha goes and grabs her hand and they’re about to leave when Arthur throws out a hand, “Wait, I forgot.”

He’s turning to the nearest table and pulling out a pen and a little piece of paper before they even turn back. Over his shoulder Eames can make out numbers in the general layout of a phone number, and his gut clenches up.

Arthur puts the pen away and steps over to hold it out to the woman. She glances at it and smiles. “Thank you.” And then they actually leave.

Eames watches them go until Arthur waves his tea at him, and Eames is careful to smile casually as he takes it and gestures toward the doors. “Shall we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This particular event wasn't actually intended to line up with Mother's Day, it's purely coincidence that it's a little more motherhood themed then usual. That said,
> 
> Happy Mother's Day everyone!


	13. Lie Back and Think of England

The next morning dawns bright and far too early. Arthur strides into his room like usual, but instead of going straight for the closet he comes over and perches on the edge of the bed. Eames peers up at him with the eye that isn't still buried in his pillow.

Arthur smiles down at him, eyes twinkling with some hidden amusement, and Eames feels the strangest urge to check his wallet.

“What?” He finally caves. “Has someone taken a sharpie to me in my sleep?”

“No.” Arthur replies, still looking far too pleased.

Eames gives him a scrutinizing look, turning over to lean back against the headboard. “Did you get a raise?” He eventually speculates on a limb.

“No.” Arthur repeats calmly.

Eames thinks back to the previous day and the phone number he’d managed to forget about. He frowns unconsciously at the thought that maybe this is a morning after glow. Even if Arthur hadn't looked nearly this chipper after their own liaison.

Something in his expression must show his distaste at the thought, because Arthur sighs and tells him, still smiling. “Yusuf has informed me that we are selling you off tonight.”

Eames blinks for a moment before it occurs to him what that cryptic clue means. “The charity auction?”

Arthur nods. “I had no idea you were into that sort of thing.”

“It’s a dinner, Arthur.” Eames tells him frankly. A dinner with some wealthy snob who donates a large amount to a charity for the honor of his company.

“Really?” Arthur asks, “Do you think Mrs. Caspole will be bidding again this year?”

“Ah.” Eames sighs. That explains the laughter. “I’ll have you know Mrs. Caspole was a complete gentleman the entire night.” The fact that the septuagenarian widow had clearly been angling for a disturbingly intimate end to the evening is nothing Arthur needs to know about.

“By which you mean she was feeling you up and trying to eat you alive?” Arthur inquires innocently.

“She’s a lovely woman, Arthur.” Eames assures, careful not to wince.

Arthur laughs. “Yusuf already gave me the rundown on last time, Eames. It’s no use trying to make it sound better than it was.”

“Well what was I supposed to do? I’d already signed up and it was for a good cause.” Eames grumbles, trying to conjure up some actual annoyance in the face of Arthur’s smile. The fact that that night was one of the most uncomfortable of his life is nothing for Arthur to laugh about.

“Oh, I’m sure it was. Did you sit there and think of England?” Arthur teases.

“You’re hilarious.” Eames tells him with a groan, turning around and burying his face in a pillow once more. “Don’t you have something to be doing?”

“You mean making sure you have something _delectable_ to wear tonight?”

“It’s for _charity_ Arthur!” Eames complains.

“You’re right.” Arthur simpers. “I’m sure it was a dreadful chore for you. Getting fawned over by all those women.”

“And men.” Eames feels obligated to point out. “Don’t forget the men.”

Arthur laughs, finally getting up off the bed. “I’ll just go pick you out your best fitting suit then, shall I? Something that screams, ‘for sale’. Or would you prefer the more traditional pants and t-shirt that are a size too small. I hear that works great on street corners.”

Eames flings a pillow in the other man’s general direction, careful to keep his grin buried in his pillow.


	14. Across a Crowded Room

The auction hall is pretty much as Eames remembers it. The place is an upscale ballroom, swarming with the rich and famous dressed to the nines with paparazzi outside and television staff inside. There is a large stage along one side, at the moment set up for a small string group playing smooth classical music for the assembled guests, but if it’s anything like the previous year it will quickly be converted when they’re ready to start into a showing area for the celebrity being auctioned.

Feeling a little bit stiff in the unusually well-fitted suit Arthur had picked out he shoots his cuffs as he looks around.

The crowd itself is already quite large, and he smiles and waves at a few familiar faces in the crowd. He knows Arthur and Yusuf are off to the side somewhere in here, and he fights the urge to look for them just to see what Arthur’s reaction to the general gaudy splendor of the event is.

“Eames, that color looks exquisite on you.” A familiar voice drawls behind him. He turns immediately at the sound to find himself face to face with Mal in a long black sequined dress that’s drawing more eyes than he is. Especially the slit up one side.

“Why thank you.” He gives her a crooked smile and takes her hand, sweeping down to brush his lips across it. “I didn't think you would still be in town.”

“I’m leaving in a couple of days.” She admits with a casual shrug.

“Are you participating in the auction?” Eames inquires curiously, wiggling his eyebrows. “I might just have to be on both sides this year if you are.”

Mal laughs and gracefully picks up a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. “I’m afraid not.”

“Worried I would make more?” He asks.

“It would hardly be fair of them to expect you to compete with me.” She says haughtily.

“You’re just scared I’d win.”

“I admit nothing.” She says with a smile. “But there was something else I wanted to mention before we part ways.”

Eames just raises an eyebrow curiously.

“I mentioned Dom was putting something together at our dinner, do you remember?” At Eames’ nod she continues with a thread of excitement. “I spoke with Dom about the part we have for you. Our invitation is official. If you want it, it’s yours.”

“I still don’t even know anything about this project of yours.”

“The script for the pilot is on here.”She says, holding up a tiny black thumb drive. “Obviously it’s still confidential, but this should be enough for you to make an informed decision.”

Eames takes the drive and flips it over in his hand. It’s a simple, sleek looking little thing, completely unmarked, and for a moment the child in him imagines he’s a spy getting dangerous but vital information from a secretive source.

Mal grins at him like she knows exactly what he’s thinking. “I expect I’ll see you again very soon.”

He shrugs magnanimously. “Maybe.” And tucks away the drive for later.

“Good luck with your auction, Eames.” Mal says, stepping closer to brush her lips against his cheek.

“Luck has nothing to do with it.” He replies, placing a hand on the back of her upper arm and squeezing ever so gently.

They part ways back into the crowd, and Eames sends one last look around to try and spot Arthur before giving it up and heading toward the nearest group of rich looking people to charm. The happier they are, the more they’ll spend and the happier everyone will be.

\--

“Who’s that with Eames?” Arthur can’t help asking as a gorgeous, tall, dark-haired woman approaches Eames with a familiar ease.

“Who?” Yusuf asks distractedly, glancing up from his phone at where Eames is currently chatting with her. “Oh, Mal? She’s an old friend of his, they go way back.”

Arthur nods, trying not to feel annoyed at Yusuf for multi-tasking while they watch the proceedings. Eventually his curiosity gets the better of him though. “Did they ever…were they…”

Yusuf doesn't even bother glancing up this time, shrugging as though Arthur managed to get out an actual question. “They've never been an item in the time I've known them, but like I said, they go way back.”

Arthur observes the conversation between them so carefully it doesn't feel like he’s blinking, but eventually a few minutes later she sways off into the crowd and Eames wanders toward a nearby group of expensive looking guests and he feels like he can breathe again.

“You've got this handled, right?” He asks Yusuf, feeling restless and out of place. “Mind if I get going a bit early tonight?”

Yusuf glances around at the room, but the fact is the event staff really do have pretty much everything covered as far as Eames is concerned, and there really isn't anything left now for Arthur to do. He seems to realize this and shrugs. “Suit yourself. There’s some amazing hors d’oeuvres in it for you if you stick around though.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I’m good, thanks.” And heads out.

On the street outside, a couple of blocks away from the actual party where he might actually be able to get a cab, he flicks open his phone and considers the text he’d received earlier. Telling himself not to over think it he hits reply, ignoring the vague sense of unease that settles over him. It’s not like he’s not allowed to make plans of his own.


	15. Nightcap

“Yusuf?” Eames calls out, making his way around the room with a distinctly self-satisfied swagger in his step. Given the amount they closed his bidding at Yusuf is hardly surprised. “Have you seen Arthur around anywhere?”

Yusuf sighs, because Eames is becoming as predictable as a lab rat coming back to the same place for food. “He left a while ago, actually.”

Eames’ smile turns brittle and hollow. He’s a good enough actor that Yusuf probably wouldn't be able to tell if he hadn't spent so many years trying to keep him in line, but it’s more than enough to make Yusuf frown and wonder, not for the first time, if hiring Arthur on hadn't been a mistake.

“This isn't exactly his kind of party.” Yusuf points out consolingly.

“Right. Of course not.” Eames agrees, but he still looks thrown off, and Yusuf takes a quick assessing glance around the room.

“You could probably duck out now.” He offers. “The official auction is over at least.” There were still a lot of people around, but also a lot of people who had already departed. The hour was late enough that no one would really think twice about Eames taking off.

“In a little maybe.” Eames refuses, his expression dialing up in energy if not genuine enthusiasm as he refocuses. “There’s still a few people I should say hello to.”

Eames is right, of course, events like these are great networking opportunities, especially with the amount he’s ‘earned’ in bids, but they are hardly desperate, and Yusuf happens to be Eames’ friend as well as manager. If Eames wants an out, Yusuf will make it happen.

\--  
  
Eames finally manages to leave a good hour later, and by then everyone is either going home or to another party. It’s late, but it’s not _that_ late. He gets into the limo and is bored of the silence before the end of the block, knee bouncing up and down with post-event energy. Even the lack of Arthur wasn't enough to completely ruin his fun, and Eames thrives on the kind of attention that was being thrown his way all night.

Now though, he’s too awake and the last thing he wants to do is go home and pace around his apartment or play video games alone.

He pulls out his phone and hits the speed dial. It rings twice before being picked up.

“Eames?” Arthur asks, sounding slightly out of breath. “Is it over already?”

Eames blinks. By Yusuf’s coerced estimation Arthur had left hours ago, and Arthur is usually very good with time. “Yes, it’s over. You should come over.” Maybe Arthur was napping. And having a nightmare.

“Actually, I’m busy tonight.” Arthur says distractedly. “I've got to go.”

Eames blinks at the click, holding his phone to his ear for a good minute before bringing it down and confirming on the screen that the call had been ended. He tries for a moment to remember the last time someone actually hung up on him, but it’s been a while. Since before Arthur.

He doesn't want to pry, Eames tells himself, but there’s only really one possible explanation that comes to mind for Arthur’s behavior. Even still, the twisting in his gut is absurd. There’s no reason for Eames to feel angry or hurt about this. Arthur’s a big boy and there’s never been anything actually happening between them. If Arthur wants to go sleep with someone on his night off that’s his prerogative.

“Would you mind pulling around to the Neon Lounge?” Eames asks the driver somewhat rhetorically. “I think I’d like to stop in for a drink.”

The driver tilts his head in the rear-view mirror with a cordial, “Certainly, Sir.” And turns on the next street in the direction of the upscale club.

It’s been too long, Eames thinks, since that night with Arthur all those weeks ago. Time to go back to the pond.

He finds a stunning ginger with long wavy hair within minutes who is exactly his taste. The fact that his taste is fairly open has nothing to do with it. He leans against the bar next to her and hasn't even opened his mouth when she gasps and asks, “Are you _Eames?_ ”

“Would you believe me if I said no?” He asks with a lascivious smile.

She bites her lip flirtatiously and shakes her head no. “Are you?”

He pulls out a credit card, careful to keep it mostly covered. “If I am, would you let me buy you a drink?”

“Sure.” She agrees. He shows her the card with his name on it and flags down a bartender.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm hoping to have this all wrapped up in maybe 8 chapters or so...
> 
> On second thought that number's probably going to end up being wildly inaccurate, but plot wise we're approaching the major end events.


	16. A Night to Regret

They practically tumble into the limo, the driver kindly holding the door open for them. Jeanette is giggling helplessly, tugging at the edge of her dress where it’s ridden up higher on her tanned thigh and biting her lip in a way which keeps drawing Eames’ eyes.

“Let me…” He mumbles softly in her ear, licking the edge of it before moving to her lips, drawing the bottom one gently between his own teeth.

She gasps into it, and Eames shivers though another surge of arousal. He’s half out of his seat twisted to face her, and she’s leaning into him, one manicured hand curling around the back of his neck. Her other hand stokes down his chest and starts pulling his dress shirt out of his pants with rough, urgent tugs. He grimaces a moment at the thought that Arthur is going to be pissed if this shirt gets ruined; it’s one of Arthur’s favorites.

On second thought though, fuck that. Arthur can go screw himself. Or someone else apparently.

He pushes further into the kiss, licking into Jeanette’s mouth around her moan, running his hand up and down her lower back, stroking over her smooth curves through her dress.

\--

Arthur’s finger hovers hesitantly over the call button. He realized a bit belatedly that he’d been more abrupt with Eames than usual on the phone, and felt even more guilty about ducking out early at the fundraiser.

It’s late now though, and the fact that Arthur has only just arrived home doesn’t mean Eames isn’t fast asleep by now. Waking him up would just make it worse if Eames actually is annoyed with him.

He sighs, finally turning his screen off and putting the phone down. He’d see Eames in the morning and apologize then.

\--

By the time they arrive at Eames’ he’s hanging onto his jacket scrunched up in one hand and his shirt is missing buttons, hanging rumpled half off his shoulders. It’s a little constricting, but the hand that isn’t holding his jacket is wrapped around Jeanette, and he’s a little preoccupied getting them down the hall to his door while sucking kisses all down her neck. She’s making delightful little breathy sounds and he can’t help but grin against her skin.

They stumble through the door and she drops her shoes. He presses her bodily up against the nearest wall and his jacket joins the heels on the floor. She lets him hold her there for several minutes before shoving at his shoulders until he steps back, following him into the rest of the flat and looking around curiously.

“Nice place…” She sounds appreciative.

Eames would appreciate a bit more focus, but he’s too much of a gentleman to put it so bluntly. “Just wait till you see the bedroom.” So maybe not _that_ much of a gentleman.

She laughs easily and grabs his hand, tangling their fingers, “Lead the way.”

Arthur wouldn’t have let him get away with that last one, Eames can’t help thinking.

Eames shakes his head to banish the thought as he tumbles onto the bed, pulling a half-laughing, half-yelping Jeanette down with him.

\--

Arthur notices the shoes and the jacket immediately upon entering Eames’ apartment in the morning. He blinks and it takes an embarrassingly long time to connect the dots, snatching up the jacket and trying to shake some of the wrinkles out while glaring at it in lieu of the man responsible. He’s going to have some stern words with Eames about the care of his clothing. He doesn’t care if the man is getting laid, this is an expensive garment.

He wavers for only a few seconds over the decision of whether or not to disturb Eames and whomever is probably still with him (if the shoes are anything to go by), but in the end this is his job and it’s not like Eames didn’t know he’d be coming. If the man had wanted privacy this morning he could have texted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This moment has been coming for a long time. Next chapter should be pretty interesting...


	17. Napalm in the Morning

Eames wakes abruptly as a ball of material lands on his face. Groaning petulantly, still more than half asleep, he tries to brush it away, only to find that his arm is somewhat trapped against an expanse of smooth skin. The night before floods back into memory like a tidal wave, and he gently moves his arm out from under his companion as he grabs at the material on his face with his free hand.

It’s a towel, he realizes a moment later, and Eames feels a surge of anger at Arthur as he looks up and catches the other man’s annoyed expression.

“What the hell, Arthur?” Eames hisses, mindful of the way Jeanette is already stirring a little next to him, the thin sheet slipping a little further down her naked back.

“I need you showered, Eames.” Arthur says pointedly, matching Eames’ volume at least. “Not smelling like a whorehouse.”

“Forgive me for having a sex drive-“ Eames drawls out sarcastically.

“I don’t care about your libido,” Arthur cuts him off harshly, voice rising, “I care about you being in decent condition for work!”

“Well surely if you can do it anyone can.” Eames agrees caustically, glaring at him.

“What the fuck are you-“ Arthur stops abruptly, eyes darting over to Jeanette as she shifts next to him on the bed. Eames very slowly turns his head in her direction.

“Eames?” Jeanette mumbles softly, blinking sleepily at him. Eames tries to smile back at her despite the anger still searing through his veins but suspects she notices something off as she frowns and glances around.

He can feel it the moment she notices Arthur standing by the bed, arms crossed and expression stony. She tenses and immediately looks more awake, grabbing at the blanket with one hand and pulling it up over her chest as she moves onto her back to stare between Eames and Arthur, wide eyed.

“Jeanette, this is Arthur. He was just leaving.” Eames says pointedly, daring Arthur to argue with him instead of leaving the room so the woman can get herself together without an audience. If anyone should be able to sympathize with her it would be one of Eames’ former one-night stands after all.

“Yes. I was.” Arthur replies, and there is something chilling about the sharp way his mouth forms the words, clipped and precise, that makes Eames think the man is talking about more than just giving Jeanette some privacy.

“Arthur-“ Eames calls out cautiously – instinctively – as the man turns on his heel, but Arthur is already halfway out the door and closes it briskly behind him.

The sudden quiet is like a strangely stifling blanket. It feels oppressive, and Eames knows there’s more to it than the sudden lack of outlet for his anger. He refuses to so much as think the word guilt. He’s got nothing to be ashamed of. He’s done nothing wrong.

“Eames?” Jeanette repeats suddenly from beside him, her eyes on the door when he glances at her. She has a strange mix of resignation and sadness in her expression that makes the ball of uncomfortable feelings in him swell.

“Sorry about that, love.” He says politely, “My assistant can be a little overbearing at times.”

“Assistant?” She echoes, tilting her head. Eames gets the feeling she’s not doubting Arthur’s job description so much as something else.

“Yes.” He says firmly, answering both the obvious and implied question. “He’s my assistant.”

Jeanette looks over at him then. Eames tries not to squirm as she gives him an uncomfortably penetrating stare. It’s not the first time he’s gotten a look like that in the morning after, usually from people who are looking for something more from him than one night. Eventually she seems to find whatever it is she was looking for, and she gives him a soft, unexpected smile. “I think I should go.”

Eames nods absently, because she’s being a lot better about this whole thing than some of his previous partners had been, and watches her calmly pick up her clothes from around the room.

He wraps Arthur's god-forsaken towel around his waist as he shows Jeanette to the front door, and deliberately does not look around for Arthur until the door is closed behind her. When he finds the apartment empty he scowls and troops into the shower and when he’s done he puts on a shirt he knows Arthur hates with a pair of plain slacks and texts Yusuf for the time and place he’s supposed to be.

Yusuf texts back immediately, ‘Ask Arthur.’

Eames frowns at the screen for a moment before replying. ‘Arthur left.’

Yusuf texts him the details.


	18. Coping Mechanisms

“And then I may have called him a manwhore.” Arthur admits, more than a little drunk and leaning up against a chest of drawers on the floor of his shitty apartment.

Ariadne spits out her mouthful of beer, spraying across the space between them in a fine mist. “You what?” She demands incredulously.

“It was more an implication than a direct quote.” Arthur clarifies with a shrug, numb from beer and anger against the helpless feeling of betrayal that he _knows_ he has no right to feel.

He expects indignation on behalf of the insulted celebrity. Instead Arthur’s met with a sudden outpouring of laughter, gasping and helpless. He smiles despite himself. “What?”

“I can’t believe you actually said that to him!”Ariadne grins at him, “And it’s not like you don’t have proof that he kind of is. He practically admitted it out loud on the Saito Show anyways.”

“That’s not the point.” Arthur tells her, shifting so the handle digging into his back is slightly less uncomfortable.

“Arthur, he was leading you on. You’re allowed to be upset about it.” She insists emphatically.

“He wasn’t.” Arthur says sullenly. “He made it perfectly clear he was interested in including sex in our arrangement. I’m the one who drew that line in the pavement.”

“So redraw it. Pave over.” Ariadne instructs like she’s telling him to swap normal milk for almond milk. Like it won’t be a big deal even if Eames agrees to it after all this time.

“I can’t just-“ Arthur starts.

“Why not?” She cuts him of, tilting her head and looking determined.

Arthur takes a large mouthful of beer to avoid answering, wracking his brain for all his carefully ordered logic.

“There’s no reason you can’t change your mind, Arthur.” Ariadne reminds him. “If you don’t do this now you might have to live for a long time with a lot of big what ifs.”

Arthur scrubs a hand roughly through his hair and looks away. “I’ll think about it.”

\--

“Eames, are you sure?” Yusuf asks with uncharacteristic hesitation.

“Yes.” Eames answers, fiddling with the flash drive in his pocket as he’s found himself doing all day. “Yusuf, Mal was right, this is an amazing opportunity. I’d be loony not to take it.”

“You know what that’s going to mean though, right? They’ll want you overseas as soon as possible, and for a long time.” Yusuf points out. “Possibly years.”

Eames nods, even though Yusuf can’t see him. “I’m sure. I wouldn’t be able to live with the regret if I turned it down.”

Yusuf is silent for several long moments, and Eames doesn’t feel his usual compulsion to fill the black space.

“Are you sure you’re not going to regret something else if you leave now?”

“No.” Eames says firmly, grip tightening in his pocket. He hadn’t heard from Arthur all day, and he refuses to feel guilty about his night with Jeanette. It's not Arthur's business who he sleeps with.

“I’m going to give Mal a call, accept the role officially.” Eames announces.

Yusuf sighs but doesn’t press. “I’ll get in touch with a realtor about the apartment. And one over there to find you a new place. God, this is going to be a lot of work.”

“Yes, it will be.” Eames mutters, only half paying attention as his mind wanders back for the tenth time in as many minutes to the brilliantly written pilot in his pocket. "But worth it."


	19. The Calm

Eames wakes a long time before his alarm, while the gentle blue light of predawn is shining faintly through his curtains. He considers returning to sleep for an instant, but he feels too awake, too alive, for that. He pads out of his room and there is a stillness to the flat that makes it seem oddly removed from the usual hustle and bustle of his life. Eames experiences the not-unpleasant impression that this quiet moment might stretch on for decades if he let it, long past all of his current worries and troubles.

He takes his time brewing some tea, opening the curtains in the main room and pulling the loveseat closer so he can nestle there with the beverage and watch as the sun begins to rise in the distance. This will likely be the last time he gets to see it from this view. His plane leaves tomorrow after all, and he has no idea where this new adventure will ultimately take him.

It throws into sharp perspective some other things he’s going to be leaving behind, and things that he’s been putting off.

His intention had always been to tell Arthur about the move in person – it would feel petty to call or text – but there’s more that he needs to say to the man than that. He wants to finally ask the questions that have been slowly forming in his head since that fateful evening they first met – back when Arthur was just an intriguing head of dark hair and a scowl. He didn’t have to think twice before approaching the man then, letting his body and subtle flirtation make his offer for him.

Then he got to know Arthur, and he could barely think the words in his own head, fearful of how Arthur might react. Eames wants Arthur around, and he’s been surprising himself with how much he’s willing to concede to have him stay. Even sex for the most part, as it turns out.

Now though, facing the idea of boarding a plane tomorrow and never seeing Arthur again – at least not for a long time – Eames needs to spit things out. He needs to know if there’s a chance for something between them. He needs to ask the man to come with him.

He sighs, sipping at his tea. The golden glow that’s bathing the room now is almost overwhelmingly bright, filling every corner like liquid spreading out to fill in the edges.

Eames doesn’t think Arthur will agree.

Regardless, Eames steels his nerve as he goes about getting ready for his day, taking his time to pick out clothing he thinks would bother Arthur. In his head he plays out the conversation again and again like a scene, trying different approaches and trying to predict how Arthur might respond or what mood Arthur will be in when he shows up.

_If he shows up_ , a niggling little voice in his head reminds him, sounding suspiciously like an annoyed Arthur.

When he’s nearly ready to go, Eames grabs his phone and types out an invitation to meet up at the end of the day. Then he promptly erases the whole thing and starts over.

The process repeats for an embarrassingly long time, each version just sounding off the moment he’s typed it. He wants to get this right, the right inflection, the right implication. _Arthur would be able to do this in his sleep_ , Eames thinks.

Eventually he just puts it as plainly as possible. A simple, _‘Can you come over this evening?’_. With any luck it will be enough.

If it isn’t, Eames will just have to track Arthur down himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter so soon?! I know, right? What is this witchery?
> 
> Mostly this is an apology for both chapters being on the pretty short size. Also because I'm going to be really busy for the next week with minimal computer access so it'll be a while before the next one goes up.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> P.S. I'd like to take a moment to thank my aghast commenters from the previous chapter, you're making it very hard to stay away from working on this. :P


	20. The Storm

The hallway outside Eames' apartment seems shorter than he remembers as Arthur walks the length of it. He reaches the door and doesn't feel ready yet to face the man behind it. He doesn't know what he wants to say. Arthur wants to kiss him for the way Eames smiles at him when it's just them. Like Arthur is the sun and Eames just wants to stay in the light. He wants to hit him for sleeping with some girl like everything Arthur's felt growing between them means nothing.

He wants to hit himself for thinking any of that means something. He wants Eames to tell him it does.

Arthur has to force himself to raise his hand to the door and knock. He still doesn’t feel ready, still doesn’t know what he’s going to say or do here, but he wants to see Eames. He wants things to be okay between them again, even if hanging out and being friends is all there is.

Eames opens the door almost before Arthur can finish knocking, and the moment Arthur sees him he shoves the man back into the apartment and out of the way so he can get to the closet.

Eames follows him and leans against the closet doorframe, and he looks bemused when Arthur glances over.

“I’m not talking to you in that monstrosity of a shirt.” He tells Eames, shoving the first less violently colorful shirt he finds at the man.

Eames smiles, easily tucking the new shirt over his arm as he obediently unbuttons the current one. Arthur gives him what is probably a softer smile than he means to, pleased at the man’s easy acquiescence.

It doesn’t hurt that a shirtless Eames has been a weak spot for Arthur since they met.

Idly Eames drops the old shirt on a chair just inside the closet and shrugs on the new one, deftly buttoning it up most of the way. He leaves at least three buttons at the top undone and doesn’t bother for a moment with the open cuffs, still looking like a model as he stands up properly and gives a little turn, raising a questioning eyebrow toward Arthur.

Arthur steps over and grabs hold of the skewed collar, carefully folding it down. He realizes very belatedly as he finishes how very close to Eames it’s brought him.

He takes an abrupt step back and they both freeze up. Now that he’s fixed the shirt disaster Arthur doesn’t know what to say here. He still doesn’t know why Eames asked him to come, and maybe he’s still a bit mad about Arthur interrupting things with the woman.

“I’m sorry.” He finally blurts into the silence. Eames blinks at him for a moment like he has no idea what Arthur’s talking about, so he goes on. “About barging in on you yesterday.”

“It’s fine, Arthur.” Eames waves off his apology, “I should have left a sock on the door or something.”

“Yes, please do in the future.” Arthur agrees, more than willing to never walk in on anything like that again.

Eames frowns at him, “You think this is going to be a regular thing for us?”

“I don’t see why it wouldn’t be.” Arthur points out, “It’s not like this is going to be the last time.” Even if Arthur would like it to be. That isn’t how Eames operates though, clearly. Who knows how many people the actor has been with between Arthur and the woman.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Eames demands, looking more than a little pissed off all of a sudden.

Arthur sighs. “Look, I get that those sorts of things are typical for you, I would just prefer that they didn’t interfere with the work.”

“Isn’t that a little hypocritical coming from you?” Eames demands, and Arthur narrows his eyes, not sure where Eames is going with this but already not liking it.

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not the only person to pick fun over work here.” The actor says like Arthur’s been the one sleeping around.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Arthur grits out.

“Really Arthur? You didn’t think I’d realize where you’d gone off to the night of the auction?” Eames folds his arms and raises an eyebrow like he’s just put down a royal flush.

Arthur blinks and then finds himself laughing. It’s not a happy sound, low and just this side of hysterical. “Oh _that?_ Forgive me for not wanting to spend the whole evening watching you ogle that actress you’re so fond of.”

“Mal?” Eames says incredulously, looking taken aback. “You thought I was hitting on a married woman?” _Shit._ Arthur thinks, but Eames is already going on. “I suppose you would think that, wouldn’t you? You clearly don’t think much of me or my shiny little _ornamental_ moral compass.”

“Look, I don’t care who you do or don’t hit on or sleep with or whatever-“ Arthur responds, trying to salvage something of their rapidly crumbling amity.

“Clearly.” Eames cuts him off. “Clearly you don’t care in the least about anything _personal_ to do with me.”

Arthur glares at him. “I just want us to be civil, at the very least.” And a lot more, but Arthur will settle for civil right now. Arthur would rather have that then nothing, no matter how painful it will be in the long run to keep looking at what he can’t actually have.

“Yes, well. Civil it is.” Eames sneers, anything but civil. “Just let me know the next time you want a night off to go get laid and I’ll make sure you’re free.”

It strikes Arthur all of a sudden, in the middle of his frustration at Eames’ irritability, that Eames thought Arthur had slept with someone the night of the auction.

“Fine.” Arthur snaps. If the pretentious asshole is going to assume things about Arthur’s love life, Arthur doesn’t feel any need to correct him. “I’ll do that.”

He brushes passed Eames, breaking eye contact and giving the other man his back as he walks briskly out to the apartment door. In the morning he’ll show up for work and maybe in a few days, once they’re not so hot headed anymore, Arthur will tell Eames he’s wrong.

He doesn’t quite slam the door on his way out, but he wants to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a lovely, healthy relationship they've got going on there. It's often said communication is key after all and they were certainly _saying_ a lot of things to each other... *innocent look*
> 
> Also, if anyone is feeling particularly distraught over them not getting along I do have a couple of lovely little fluff pieces posted with them that might make you feel a bit better.


	21. Blindsided

Arthur makes the familiar trek to Eames’ in the morning, relaxed by the familiar flow of people rushing around in the morning, and nearly feels calm by the time he arrives on Eames’ floor.

That changes the moment the door comes into view, hanging open halfway.

There’s no one in sight or that he can hear moving in the apartment, so Arthur quietly pushes the door open further, slipping into the main room.

Scattered around the place are various brown boxes, sealed and sitting there in piles. There’s no sign of postage labels, so presumably Eames hasn’t just received a large shipment of something, but that means they’re probably outgoing, and Arthur has no idea what he could possibly be sending so much of.

“Eames?” He calls out tentatively. The bedroom door is wide open, but Arthur isn’t really expecting an answer. Eames would have heard him coming in already.

He moves over to the doorway, peering in. A phantom chill runs down his spine at the sight of a stripped mattress on the bed and cleared nightstand.

There are a few more boxes piled in here, and Arthur moves toward the closet like he’s being moved by gravity. Somewhere in the back of his brain he knows what he’s going to find, but that doesn’t make the sight of the barren room any easier on his frazzled nerves. Without any of Eames’ clothes in it, the walk in closet looks much bigger inside.

Arthur steps back out, unreasonably unnerved by the open space, and notices one of the boxes next to the closet isn’t taped shut. He looks inside to find the god-awful shirt he’d made Eames take off the night before. He picks it up, running his fingers over the fabric without really thinking about it, and startles violently when there’s a thump in the next room.

“Hey, I don’t think you’re supposed to be in here.” A professional sounding guy around Arthur’s age says from the bedroom doorway a moment later, looking at him. To his credit he isn’t looking at Arthur like a criminal who broke in to go through Eames’ underwear drawer, and Arthur appreciates the leeway.

“I’m a friend of Eames’.” Arthur says, relaxing fractionally when that seems to be enough. “Will he be back soon?”

“I hadn’t heard he would be coming by, but we’re not really in charge of that stuff. We’re just the movers.” The guy says, matter-of-factly. Arthur thinks he can hear a few more people moving around in the main room now, but he’s too distracted by the conversation to really care much.

“What are you moving?”

“Everything still here, I think.” The guy tells him helpfully. Arthur feels sick and confused and the mover tilts his head. “Are you okay, man?”

Arthur nods numbly, trying to smile reassuringly. He’s pretty sure he fails miserably when the guy only frowns deeper.

“Just ah- came to get my shirt.” He lies, vaguely holding up the abomination still clenched in his hand. “Where did you say you were moving the stuff to?”

“Storage.” The moving guy tells him with a shrug.

Arthur nods like he has any idea what’s going on and gestures vaguely passed the guy toward the exit. “I should get going, I guess.”

The guy just nods and moves further into the room toward the unclosed box Arthur grabbed the shirt from. “Okay, have a good one.”

Arthur’s legs feel like jello as he leaves the apartment, trying not to run passed the curious looking movers in the main room, shuffling around the boxes. As soon as he steps out of the elevator into the lobby he has his phone out, dialing Eames.

It doesn’t even ring, just telling him in an automated voice that Eames is unavailable, but he is welcome to leave a message.

Arthur can think of a few messages he wouldn’t mind leaving the actor, but he’s got better things to do at the moment – like figuring out what’s actually going on.

He dials Yusuf next, and this time it rings properly.

Arthur cuts the man off before he can say a word, immediately demanding, “What the hell is going on?”

Yusuf is silent for a moment before he curses, emphatically but muffled like he turned away from the phone. “Eames said he was going to tell you.” He says a moment later, sounding gratifyingly murderous.

“Tell me what?” Arthur demands.

“He got a roll on a TV show being filmed in Paris. It’s something Mal’s husband Cobb’s been working to put together for a bit now.” Yusuf explains, and Arthur feels strangely numb to the news. Like it’s a dream or happening to someone else who Arthur hasn’t been seeing in person nearly every day for the last while. “Eames left the decision till pretty much last minute and they want him over there pretty quickly to get things started. He flew out this morning.”

Eames had known then, that he might be leaving. Known for probably at least a week.

Known the night before, when they argued about leaving socks on doorknobs.

He hadn’t said anything.

“Arthur?” Yusuf asks, sounding cautious like he’s addressing a wild animal.

Arthur realizes he’s been silent for a good minute already, and forces his mouth to open. “I assume this means I’ve been fired?”

If his tone is a little bit clipped, Arthur hardly thinks Yusuf really has any room to complain. It’s not like he wouldn’t have known for at least nearly as long as Eames had.

Yusuf sighs. “I’m sorry to say it, but yes. We’ll be giving you six months’ salary though, and I would be more than happy to provide you with a reference for any future endeavors.”

It will help, Arthur knows, and when he’s done feeling…whatever emotions it is that are getting jammed trying to flood into him all at once, he knows he will appreciate the grace period that money if going to give him in his job search, but at the moment he really can’t think about it properly. He feels lightheaded.

“Thank you. I assume you’ll be joining Eames in Paris?” Arthur manages to get out more steadily than he expected to.

“Yes, in a day or two probably.” Yusuf agrees.

“Have a safe flight then.” Arthur forces out, and hangs up without waiting for a reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no dramatic airport scene this time around.


	22. Stuck in Limbo

Arthur spends a long time walking as far away from Eames’ apartment as he can. When it feels like he can breathe again and the world starts to settle into focus, he turns back in the direction of his own cheap little apartment.

It’s still the middle of the afternoon by the time he gets there, and he hates that everyone around him is going on like it’s any other day. It feels even worse than the last time he’d been fired, when he’d been able to feel angry about it. This time it just feels hollow.

At the end of it all, as angry as he wants to be, he can’t begrudge Eames without feeling guilty about it. Eames doesn’t owe him anything. He’s been more than fair the whole time, and a hell of a lot more upfront than Arthur has been. The whole thing feels like some dream that he’s finally woken up from. The world feels at once more real and more vast and more lonely. Like no one’s seeing him when he walks down the streets. Just one more person in a city of millions.

He gets home and pauses inside the door, keys dangling on his fingers. One of them is Eames’. He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

There is laundry he’s left on the floor on one side and there’s an old script Eames had shoved at him laying open on the corner of his cluttered and neglected desk, and at least a half dozen books he’s started and never managed to find the time to finish and all he wants to do is turn around and walk back out but he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

Listlessly he moves around the edges of the room, trailing his fingers over things and sifting casually through stacks of papers. His fingers trail over the closed pages of an old book and he pauses, his fingers suddenly itching for the familiar feel of delicate, crisp paper and worn bindings. Purposely not thinking about it Arthur leaves the apartment again and walks to the supply store a couple blocks away, picking up the few things he doesn’t already have. He hadn’t bothered back when he had a lab to work in and minimal pay to budget, but with six months’ severance it’s an indulgence he can afford.

He goes back and clears off his desk, vacuuming up several weeks worth of dust and shoving open his creaky window for some meager ventilation before he carefully pulls the old book down from the shelf.

It’s hours before he looks up at the clock again, and for the first time in a long while he almost feels like himself again.

The damnedest thing is that he’s not sure he entirely likes it.

\--

Eames paces the hard wood floor of his new place, barely having bothered to unpack any of the few boxes of stuff he’d brought with him. On each pass he delivers his line a different way, adjusting his tone and emphasis. He’s got it down to about three different versions now, but he still feels unmoored about the whole character. Like he’s missing a crucial part.

In reality, Eames knows it’s not a particular part he’s missing per se, he’s already got a pretty comprehensive back story worked out in his head based on what Cobb’s given him. It’s the general spirit of the character he’s yet to nail down. The essence that changes deliberate choices into an instinct for how the character will react and move and process his own world around him.

Eames lets out a frustrated breath, stopping to run a hand through his hair. He’s not going to be making any more progress going at it this way tonight, he knows that much.

With any luck, his subconscious will do this last bit for him. It wouldn’t be the first time.


	23. Long Distance Calling

Three exhaustingly busy days pass for Eames, and instead of settling in each day he feels slightly more haggard.

It's not that the work is too much, or even that the language is creating problems. They haven't starting shooting yet and he's spoken French for years. He just feels restless. At first he'd blamed it on preoccupation getting the role down, but he's starting to think it's something else and the character problems are just a symptom.

Then he wakes in the middle of the night and all he can think about is Arthur sitting in his kitchen in New York laughing at him as he rehearses and before he's fully awake he's got his phone in his hand dialing Arthur.

It rings and he pulls it away from his ear for a moment to hover his finger over the end call button, chewing his lip. He's never been one to back down though, so he quickly decides, fuck it, if Arthur's going to be a pain about this he doesn't have to pick up, but at least this time it's not going to be Eames' fault for chickening out.

It doesn't hurt that at this point even Arthur yelling at him would probably help him sleep better.

It's a whole five agonising rings later that there's finally a click on the other end of the call.

"Arthur?" He asks, not really giving the other man a fair chance to say anything.

"Eames?" Arthur replies, sounding wonderfully, familiarly, skeptical. "What the hell? Isn't it like 3 am where you are?"

"Yes dear." Eames tries not to sound too pleased. "Just wanted to say hi."

"You just wanted to say hi." Arthur repeats, letting his tone express how insane that sounds.

"Well, yes-"

Arthur cuts him off before he can get any further, sounding mutedly furious. "You don't bother to tell me when we see each other all the time that you're _leaving the country_ , but you call me overseas to 'say hi'?"

Eames sighs, feeling all the enveloping contentedness of hearing Arthur's voice again draining away to guilt. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I had honestly intended to tell you, it just happened so fast and then we were fighting and then you left and I didn't- I've never been good at goodbyes."

There's silence over the line for a few minutes before Arthur finally responds, somewhat apropos of nothing, "I'm selling that book you got me."

For a split second Eames wants to call him out on the subject change. He didn't accept Eames' apology or say anything about what's happened, and a part of him _wants_ Arthur to be more upset about him leaving. He stops himself though. Eames doesn't want to keep fighting right now. He doesn't want to risk Arthur hanging up and blocking his number over this. And he would have plenty of reason to, Eames has made sure of that.

Instead he responds mildly, in much the same casual way as Arthur made the remark. "Oh? Did you fix it up first?"

He tries not to sound too invested in the question, even as he silently prays Arthur paid it even that much attention.

"Yeah." Arthur admits. "The night you left. I put it up on a rare book site the next morning and it's had some good offers. Collectors and libraries and all that."

"Good." Eames says as earnestly as he can manage. "That's good, I'm glad."

"Right, well. Thanks for that, I guess." Arthur says neutrally. "I never did thank you at the time."

"No, you're welcome." Eames pointedly ignores the awkwardness they've fallen into.

"How's the new role?" Arthur asks, even sounding genuinely a little interested.

"It's fantastic, Arthur, really. You'd love the pilot script. It's just your kind of subtle."

"Oh?" Arthur prompts and Eames is pretty sure that's genuine amusement he's hearing.

"I wish I could just hand it to you to read like I used to." Eames laments. "I've nearly got this one down but I feel like there's something important about my character that I'm missing."

"Tell me about him." Arthur offers. "Walk me through."

Eames can barely stop himself from launching right in. It would be even better if he could _show_ Arthur, but he's not about to go there now. This is more than he knows he deserves from Arthur. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Arthur agrees in Eames' favorite indulgent tone. "Go on."

Eames rests better in the few hours of sleep he ends up getting that night than he has since arriving.


	24. An Unexpected Offer

“You’re doing better.” Yusuf comments to Eames almost as soon as he walks in the door of the rehearsal studio. Coupled with his narrowed eyes and crossed arms it sounds like an accusation.

“Good morning to you too.” Eames drawls, sipping at his tea and rolling his eyes.

“No, really. What did you do?” Yusuf insists, looking skeptical. Probably wondering if he ought to be worried or relieved, Eames muses. He waits until Yusuf takes a long sip of his coffee before replying.

“I called Arthur.”

Yusuf spits out the coffee as predicted, spluttering comically, and Eames laughs.

“He actually picked up?” Yusuf asks after he recovers himself, sounding insultingly surprised.

“Of course he did. I’m me.”

Yusuf snorts, “That was my point,” and Eames glares at him. “You did forget to tell him you were leaving the country and firing him, Eames.” His manager reminds, almost gently.

“It wasn’t like I meant to.” Eames complains.

“I know.” Yusuf agrees easily, without judgment for once. “I am glad you’re talking again now.

“Me too.” Eames admits absently, thoughts returning once more to their conversation the night before.

\--

Arthur posted the book from Eames with every intention of selling it to the highest bidder. The offer he finds himself most interested in however, has absolutely nothing to do with it.

The man who contacts him is looking for a restorer for a great many books from a large library that recently fell into his care. Mr. Fischer had noticed Arthur’s ad and the description of repairs he had performed and had been apparently pleased by the progress Arthur made, which he hoped Arthur might replicate on other works for him.

Basically, it’s a job offer. The idea being that the man would send Arthur a few books at a time and Arthur would tend to them and send them back. Arthur agrees almost immediately.

The first book comes only a couple of days later, and he doesn’t really notice until he’s packaging it back up that the return address is in Ireland. It couldn’t been cheap sending heavy books that far, but if the man has enough to pay Arthur to restore fairly useless books than he’s probably not too worried about the extra for shipping.

A plan begins to form in the back of Arthur’s mind. An opportunity glimpsed and teasing at him.

Before his new employer sends anything else, Arthur sends him an email asking him to wait. Then he opens a browser and books a one-way flight before beginning to pack up everything he owns, enlisting Ariadne with the promise of beer and pizza and the probability that it might be a while before they see each other again.


	25. Details

The plane ride is a special kind of hell for Arthur.

Ever since buying the plane ticket he’s been on the move, packing and making arrangements and dashing to the airport, and then suddenly he has to sit still for nearly eight hours straight and twiddle his thumbs. It allows a lot of time for all his suppressed doubts to suddenly surge back into the spotlight. Truly, this is the most _insane_ thing Arthur has ever done in his life.

Not only is he moving across an ocean on a split-second impulsive decision, but he’s doing it to go after a movie star he slept with once who is probably already dating some French supermodel or something, completely moved on from the tension filled friendship that had followed their tryst.

They even _literally_ speak another language where he’s going, and he hasn’t even glanced at places to live.

And what if he can’t even _find_ Eames?

A middle aged woman across the aisle looks at him with mild concern for a minute. Arthur takes a deep breath, grabbing as tight a hold on his growing panic as he can and trying to shove it away mercilessly. It works well enough for the moment, and Arthur pulls out a notebook and begins to do what he does best. He starts figuring out the details.

Firstly, he’s going to need somewhere to stay and keep his stuff while he looks for a more permanent place. Secondly he’s going to need to find Eames. For better or for worse.

If nothing else, maybe Eames still has the number for his Paris realtor. He owes Arthur at least that much.

He adds a few more things to his list of details, knowing it barely scrapes the surface of all the things he’s going to need to do, but feeling better for having done it. More in control. After that, Arthur sits for a while looking out the window, and is surprised when he wakes up at the beginning of their descent, not remembering falling asleep and not having expected to manage it.

\--

Paris is even more crowded than Arthur expected, and he’s immediately grateful for all his university French when he tries to read some street signs and can actually understand the gist of it. It doesn’t take him too long to find a cozy looking old hotel that will put him up for decent nightly rates, and it’s conveniently across from a small café that looks promising.

He puts his stuff in his room and heads there first, pulling out his laptop and spending the next several hours surfing through gossip articles and promotional material to try and find some mention of where Eames might be. Somewhere in the back of his head he knows he could just text or call the actor, or even Yusuf, but somehow that feels like cheating. Like obligating them to play along and be polite, even if they aren’t glad Arthur stalked them half way around the world.

Arthur will be able to gauge their reactions much better if he can be there in person when they find out. If it also puts off having to contact them, well, that’s just one of the downsides of his new plan of action.


	26. Message in a Bottle

It ends up being two restlessly long days before Arthur manages to find an event open to the public that Eames is supposed to be at. He and a couple of his cast members apparently volunteered for a little bit of improv at a local fair for charity. Arthur doesn’t doubt the place will be packed even on the outskirts of the city as it is. Eames really won’t find him in the crowd this time, but that doesn’t mean Arthur won’t know where to find Eames.

The crowd is huge already when he arrives an hour beforehand, practically overflowing from the old amphitheater seats. It’s not going to stop him, but it will provide yet another obstacle between them. As though an ocean wasn’t quite enough.

Arthur goes around to far side of the seating and edges his way downward toward the side of the stage. He sits on the very edge of one of the benches when he finds a good view and watches as people come and go backstage. He waits nearly forty-five minutes before he makes his approach, a combination of sudden nerves and wanting the staff to settle in a bit more. Wanting things to die down a little.

When he gets close, the stern looking security guard pins him with a tight frown. The kind of expression that is made to make avid fans rethink their decision to plead backstage entrance or a chance to see their favorite celebrity in person. Having worked with Eames and dealt with security staff before, Arthur barely blinks as he continues his approach, making eye contact and making sure to appear calm and collected despite the sensation of butterflies flying around in his gut.

“I’m part of Eames’ personal staff,” Arthur starts off before the guy can tell him he’s not supposed to be here. It might not be entirely true anymore but he doesn’t think anyone will call him on it. He knows it won’t get him backstage without a pass, but it should work for what he has in mind. “Could you get a message to him?”

The security guard raises an eyebrow and keeps eye contact for a long few seconds before nodding reluctantly. “What’s the message?”

\--

Eames grins at Mal as they go through a couple of warm ups backstage, half an ear to the thunderous rumble of the crowd beyond the curtains. Hundreds of people here to see them perform. With film he likes the amount of precision that can be achieved, being able to retry things again and again until they are perfect, but it’s always a rush to perform live. There’s truly nothing else like it.

One of the stage hands gives them a ten minute warning, and Eames and Mal smile at each other like children, delighted. Nearby two of their younger co-stars look a little green, clearly feeling nerves, but for them this is an old hat.

The next few minutes practically blink by as the stage hands rush around doing last-minute preparations and then they take their places in the wings and wait as they are introduced, one by one.

\--

There is a break, halfway through their scheduled time. They’re still laughing as the curtain closes and even the newbies look like they’re having fun now.

“Mr. Eames?” One of the stage hands approaches hesitantly. “I have a message for you.”

It’s practically a question with the tone she’s using, but Eames just smiles reassuringly. “What’s the message?”

“Um, it just says _‘I didn’t sell the book.’_ ” She says, reading it off her clipboard.

Eames freezes, feeling abruptly like his insides have been grabbed and twisted like a pretzel. “Who was it from?”

The girl shifts and glances back at the clipboard again. “It doesn’t say, but it was left with the stage security.”

Eames nods absently, wracking his brains for what he should do about this. He doesn’t want to jump to conclusions, but there’s only one person he can think of who would want to tell him anything about book sales, and Arthur’s in New York.

“Five minutes!” the stage manager calls out, and Eames has a momentary flare of panic. He’s suddenly got a more pressing concern at the moment, but he also needs to be back on stage. He doesn’t have time to go running off on a wild chase right now.

“Eames?” Mal calls, clearly picking up on his shift in mood.

He turns to her with a helpless look that he knows she can see right though. “I think Arthur is here.”

“Your Arthur?” Mal asks, a smile curving teasingly over her lips.

Eames rolls his eyes. “Yes, but I’ve no idea where and,” He makes a frustrated noise as he gestures to the curtain and the audience beyond. “There’s hundreds of them out there.”

“One minute!”

“I have an idea.” Mal says soothingly, “Leave it all to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the last chapter, but I guess that's going to be the next one. I'll probably also put up an epilogue at some point.


	27. Here to Stay

Eames looks out at the crowd whenever he has the slightest excuse. He tries to scan sections at a time, looking for that familiar mop of dark hair, but he doesn’t even know what Arthur is wearing.

Mal raises an eyebrow the next time their eyes meet across stage, and he knows he’s being ridiculous even without her silent command to cut it out. It’s Arthur though, out there somewhere in the crowd despite all reason, waiting for him, and Eames wants nothing more right now than to confirm this with his eyes.

At the end of the next game, Mal gets their hosts’ attention, cutting him off mid-sentence. He looks over at her in confusion as she strides over and calmly takes the microphone from him. Graciously he backs away and lets her.

“Hello, Paris.” Mal greets the crowd with a winning smile. They cheer loudly for her, but Eames doesn’t pay it much mind as he turns his full attention on picking through the faces in the crowd. “Thank you all for your support and welcome.”

“For this next bit we will require the help of a certain individual from the crowd.” She announces, pulling Eames' attention back, if not his eyes. He has a pretty good idea where she’s going with this now. “Arthur! Please come up to the stage.”

Eames watches the crowd look around themselves in a mix of curiosity and confusion, and his eyes are flying around so much he starts to feel dizzy. Then he sees him though, like a mirage in the desert, Arthur’s familiar form making his way quickly down one of the side staircases. He looks up and meets Eames’ eyes for a split second, and Eames feels a strange sense of peace at odds with the nerves still thrumming through him. He doesn’t know how this will go, or why Arthur is here, but he is. For the moment that is more than enough for Eames.

He goes to the edge of the stage as Arthur gets closer, holding down a hand to him. Arthur gives him a tiny, relieved-looking grin and clasps his hand over Eames’ wrist, helping Eames pull him up.

The minute Arthur has both feet on the ground again Eames wants nothing more than to pull him backstage or kiss him. He’s prevented from either action by Mal recapturing everyone’s attention.

“Arthur is going to be helping us out on this last game by saying ‘change’ whenever he likes.” Mal explains. “When that happens, whoever last spoke will change whatever they last said to something else.”

She hands off the microphone to him and Arthur gamely walks over to the side of the stage, eyes still mostly on Eames. The game feels impossibly long, and Eames has a feeling Mal and the other’s are doing all the work for him because he certainly isn’t earning all the laughs he’s hearing.

Then, finally, it’s over. Arthur hands off the microphone after they all take a bow and Eames is pulling him offstage in moments. As soon as they’re clear Eames spins around and then suddenly they’re face to face for the first time since the night before Eames left. Their last big fight. There’s a long pause as they both seem to drink each other in. Eames feels like his tongue and his brain have gone numb, unable to think of words to go with the elation swirling in his head.

“I didn’t sell the book.” Arthur finally repeats, breathy and rushed.

Eames grins so much it hurts. “Good. I didn’t sell the apartment.”

Arthur blinks. “Why not? Are you renting it out?”

Eames laughs, brushing aside the notion like a bug. “No, I couldn’t bear the thought that you would never be able to visit me there again. Thought I might come back for the off-season.”

“That’s insane.” Arthur informs him, but he’s smiling back even wider than before.

“Speaking of insane, what on Earth are you doing here?” Eames tires to keep the delighted wonder out of his voice but suspects he’s failing. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“Realized I wasn’t done with you.” Arthur shrugs. “And I got a job offer that means I can work from pretty much anywhere.”

Eames feels his thoughts skip a track. “You’re staying?”

Arthur bites his lip. “That depends.”

“On what?” Eames is pretty sure he’d be willing to do anything to make that happen, now that it’s a possibility.

“Ariadne said I should redraw some lines.” Arthur says, looking away like it’s taking him effort to get the words out. “I was wondering…if you wanted to…maybe we could try something new.”

Eames doesn’t want to hope, but he really, desperately wants this to be what he thinks it might be. “Arthur, are you asking me out?”

Arthur’s eyes snap to his, searching and cautiously terrified. Whatever it is though, he seems to find it. “Yes.”

Eames beams at him. “Good.” And curls a hand around the back of Arthur’s head, pulling him in and crushing their lips together. It only takes Arthur a split-second to respond to him, grabbing onto his shirt and pulling him closer, and then it’s like the first time they were together. It’s rough and messy and playful and Eames can’t get enough of it. His other hand slides down Arthur’s side and tucks in under the edge of his shirt near his hip and he pulls the other man even closer. They might have even gone farther if it hadn’t been for a loudly cleared throat a few feet away.

Arthur practically shoves him off, blushing wildly, and Eames can’t help the grin splitting his face, reaching for Arthur again and completely ignoring Mal’s slightly exasperated expression.

The other man is having none of it though, glaring at Eames and turning him away until Eames finds himself pouting at Arthur’s side.

“Eames, as pleased as I am for you, this is hardly the place.” Mal points out far too reasonably.

Eames sighs, but he’s still smiling helplessly. He grabs Arthur’s hand without another thought and starts dragging him off toward the parking lot. Traffic is going to be hell, but there is a very spacious bed at the end of the tunnel and he has the rest of the evening entirely free.

Well, not anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone who's been reading along and a special hat-tilt to my commenters. I sincerely hope you enjoyed the ride.
> 
> If anyone's got anything they'd particularly like to see in the epilogue let me know. I make no promises but I will certainly entertain ideas.
> 
> Next up I'll be focusing on my in-verse Arthur/Eames work [A Voice In The Dark](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4131624/chapters/9315225) wherein Eames and Arthur meet the first time while Arthur is in a coma. First chapter's up for anyone who wants to take a look.


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